Release
by KricketWilliams
Summary: Garcia finds Morgan at an unexpected place, and discovers more than she ever expected about his life. I don't own a thing. Please read the author's note before continuing with this story.
1. Chapter 1

_Dear Readers:_

_The following story has risqué subject matter and will probably not suit everyone who reads it. Although not a true definition of the lifestyle, this does contain some Dominant/submissive themes that may make some people uncomfortable, as well as some bondage, S&M, and other non-traditional sexual acts. It is a very strongly M-rated story for adults only. It is a story worth telling; next story is much more traditional "KricketWilliams" style. If you feel you need to wait this one out, I understand. _

_That being said, I feel I have done my best to write this with the same amount of love and passion I believe is trademark with Morgan and Garcia. I hope to be able to take you along on this experimental ride...for my millionth word on FF._

_Sincerely yours,_  
><em>Kricket<em>

* * *

><p>It was that time of year again, nearly the end of winter, ushering in the start of spring all around Quantico. Children were off for break, getting ready to return to school at the end of the Easter holiday. People were starting their yard work and trying to get to last minute vacation plans in before everyone had to go back to the daily grind. The weather was starting to get warmer in the daytime, but it was still frosty enough in the evenings that a scarf was welcome comfort.<p>

It had been a day just like this when he'd lost his dad. He'd been so excited, ready to go back to school and see his friends, like most nine year olds in the Chicago area. His mom had taken him to get his hair cut, had taken him shopping for new shoes because his feet had been growing yet again, and had taken him out to lunch afterward, a rare treat in his family. Although he'd miss spring break, he'd been psyched, pumped, and thrilled to be going back.

That night, his dad had decided to walk with him to the corner convenience store to get some candy bars for lunch bags. His mother, a hippie health food fanatic, hadn't bought any chocolates for her kids' lunches. Derek and his two sisters had begged their father for treats, and—soft-hearted chocoholic he had been—he'd gone on the trip with his son.

Less than an hour later, his dad had lain bleeding to death on the floor of the Heights Superettte. Derek had fallen to his knees to reach him. Bill Morgan hadn't said a word, a look of shock and disbelief on his face as he stared up at his only son. A moment later, he'd closed his eyes for the last time in his life.

Derek had remained on the floor, holding his dad like a toddler would hold their mother's leg. He'd held him after the police arrived, after the paramedics and coroner had arrived, and long after his father had turned an icy, nonviable temperature. Even now, years later, Derek still thought about how wrong that had seemed. He'd been such a warm man for such a cold death.

Losing someone so vital and important in his life had made Derek vulnerable to exploitation. Subconsciously, he'd searched for a surrogate father…and found the devil incarnate instead.

A predator who had preyed on the young and vulnerable, Carl Buford had eased his way into being an important and loved person in Derek's life and then took advantage of that love and trust by molesting him. It had been something in his life he'd never talked about, his deepest shame and darkest secret, until he'd been forced to face his demons.

He'd been able to confront Buford, had been able to regain his strength, his pride, and his manhood by bringing him down and keeping other children safe. He'd cried when he'd finally had justice—the first time he'd cried since his father died.

He wasn't a macabre person, fixated on death. He wasn't emo, wearing nothing but black and feeling miserable all the time. Most of the time, he'd successfully put this all behind him, joked and flirted with the ladies, had an enviable life.

But not this time of year.

He'd reached the entrance of _The Palace Spa and Retreat_ and opened the door. A spacious foyer, beautifully decorated and with civilly appropriate music playing, greeted him. He'd been coming here for years, ever since he was a marine in the DC area. The familiar room raised tingles on his spine and caused a rush of excitement.

A large, mahogany desk was in the center of the room, a diminutive secretary sitting at the helm. Her features were almost pixie-like, pointed and nearly shimmeringly pale, like she should have wings.

"Hello, sir," the tiny, redheaded receptionist said, smiling at him. He liked that red hair of hers; it reminded him of Garcia when she'd dyed her hair that shade. "Name, please?"

"Morgan."

The smile faded just slightly from her face as she scanned the date book and found where Derek was slotted. She looked up at him, a mix of curiosity, interest, and a touch of fear all mingled in her expression. That didn't surprise him; he was used to that here.

"If you'll take a seat, she'll come to get you," she murmured, gesturing to the large leather sofas in the left side seating room.

Derek walked into the other room and took a seat, reaching for a magazine. A redhead graced the cover of the magazine, too, and he thought of Garcia again.

_Penelope._

He closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift to the beautiful, curvy goddess he loved so very much. Originally, he had been attracted to her, lusted after her like any man with a brain would. He'd flirted with her, intent on making her the flavor of the month for January, 2004, and showing her a really great time.

But that all changed.

He found himself needing to talk to her, wanting far more than he'd ever wanted from a simple fuck. She was unlike anyone he'd ever known—quirky, funky, amazing. She was a breath of fresh air and light, an angelic oasis in the midst of murders and rapists he hunted. She made him smile when he didn't think he would ever smile again and loved him when he felt completely unlovable and incapable of feeling.

Derek didn't trust easily, didn't love easily, but he couldn't stop himself from falling head over heels with her.

He snorted in self-disgust. She was taken. She was his friend. She'd chosen someone else, which was a very intelligent choice. It didn't matter that he felt like she owned his soul, that she was everything he'd ever wanted, more than he'd ever needed or deserved. She was not his. She would _never_ be his.

And that was a good thing.

Derek knew that if he turned on the charm, if he tried to woo her away from her long time boyfriend, he probably could do it. He'd thought about it more times than he could count, and he had to remind himself often not to carry his outward affections toward her too far. He'd come close to kissing her—caressing her face, tilting her chin—many times, but he always drew back at the last moment.

He knew better. He was not meant for her. He wasn't meant for anybody.

Luckily, the rest of the team didn't seem to think that how they acted with each other was odd, and he was able to steal a few moments with her. They'd never know how much he truly wanted her...all of her—body, mind, and spirit. They'd never know…and Penelope wouldn't know, either.

Heaving a sigh, Derek tossed the magazine aside.

"Derek."

He looked up in the direction of the voice where another woman was standing. Without another word, he stood and went to her side. He followed her down the long, arched marble hallway. He could hear the echo of her stilettos tapping on the ground, sounding around them as they made it farther and farther away from the reception area.

They reached a door to the left; the woman pushed it open and then smiled without warmth at him. "This is your room. Is there anything else I can get for you?"

"No."

He didn't say anything else—he wasn't there for conversation. Wisely, she turned, the clicking of her heels on the marble fading quickly as she hurried away.

Derek entered the room and sat down on the dark table in the center of the room. He closed his eyes and felt that tingle of excitement again, followed by a strange peace. He knew why he was there; he longed for it. Others wouldn't understand—he didn't expect them to, and he didn't care if they did or not.

Derek stripped naked and stretched his long, lean body face down on the center of the leather table. There were handholds on the end, but he didn't need that. Restraints were not necessary for him. He'd come here for this; no one was forcing him.

Medically, he understood. With certain physical pain, endorphins are released, mimicking a drug like Heroin. It was a boxer's high, the reason people liked to be spanked or have their hair pulled during rough sex.

That was only part of it for him, though. He got off on it sometimes, that was for certain, but he needed it for more than that. At this time, more than ever, he craved it. It gave him something nothing else could.

He closed his eyes, turning his head to the side, away from the door. He didn't need to see her; it didn't matter what she looked like or what she wore. In a few moments, he would be blissfully numb, and the anguish he felt inside would be decreased. With each lash, each stroke, he'd come closer to ecstasy.

He'd be free: free from the hurt of his father, free from Buford's touch, free from the death and twisted sickness around him…and free of longing for someone he could never have. He'd have the one thing he needed more than anything else...

Release.

As he heard the door click open, he began to prepare himself. However, just before it began, he realized yet again he'd made the right choice in being permanently alone. It was the way things needed to be, for his sanity and hers.

She would never understand this.


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: Thanks so much for reviewing and for sticking with me on this one. If you feel like Penelope (And me), you are a touch eeked out over this—S&M? WTF?- but interested, too. Hopefully, we get to learn by putting ourselves in Penelope's shoes...and trusting that Derek would protect her (And, in turn, us) from hurt, no matter what...Thanks for being bold, being brave, and reading along..._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

As she paged through a tabloid, Penelope noticed her overgrown cuticles, chipped polish, and rough nail edges and smiled with satisfaction. In only a few minutes, she was going to be getting a fabulous manicure and pedicure combo. She could barely contain her excitement; it had been a very long time since she'd pampered herself.

A couple of months ago, around Valentine's Day, her best friend had surprised her with a gift certificate for a spa getaway. They'd had some rocky times lately that had been her fault—she'd seen him in a state of undress and her imagination had flown off the handle. She'd been an ass to him, so when he'd stopped her with a gift, she hadn't expected it at all.

"_Love bunch, I can't accept this," she protested, looking at the envelope for the Palace spa._

"_Yes, you can." He smiled sweetly at her, the brilliant smile she, and thousands of other women, could never resist. "You're my favorite girl and my only Valentine; you have to accept."_

_She opened the gift certificate and saw that it was good for five spa services. She blushed rather uncomfortably. This was too much. Kevin had only gotten her a box of chocolates from Wal-Mart and a very sweet teddy bear. How could she accept this?_

"_It's too extravagant, Derek. This is a very posh place—the TV news anchors go there," she explained, shaking her head in a negative fashion. "It's not for me."_

_He smirked. "Yeah, I know it's posh, honey. I'm the one that bought it there."_

"_Five services probably cost an arm and a leg," she __grumbled, thrusting the__ certificate at him. "I can't. It's too much!"_

"_It was half off," he countered, stepping away from her. "I made extra selling a house this January—I think I can afford it."_

_She shook her head negatively. "My sweet mocha madman, you are darling and wonderful, but it's not right. I couldn't accept it if it was Christmas or my birthday, much less some little holiday like Valentine's..."_

_He gave her a look that silenced her, and then he said, "Valentine's isn't a little holiday to me. It's a time to show someone you love them and how much they mean to you." He grabbed her hand and pressed her fingers closed around it. "Take it."_

"_Derek..."_

"_Fine," he __said, and then__ shrugged and started to turn. "Wait 'til I leave and throw away that two hundred bucks."_

_Her eyes widened, his words stunning her. "Two hundred dollars!"_

_She could hear him chuckling as he walked away from her, his long strides gaining distance quickly._

"_Derek__ Morgan, you get back here!" she snapped, calling out and knowing he wasn't going to __stop. Huffing__, she realized that he'd stuck her with the gift—she was too practical to throw away that much money—__and that__ she'd truly enjoy every penny he'd spent on it._

Now, as she sat in the waiting room, she smiled. He really was a very good friend, the best she'd ever have, and he didn't have to buy her a gift for her to recognize it. He showed it every day in his warmth and affection and how he always had time for her, no matter how busy he was. He'd give her his right arm, and he was protective of her almost to a fault. She'd give anything for him, too. Whatever he wished for, she'd try to grant it.

Not that he'd ask for anything from her.

Derek was a man on his own a lot. He didn't trust a lot of people, so there were some blank holes in his history that she didn't know about. He trusted her to an extent, and she didn't push that. Some part of Derek must've needed to protect himself from full disclosure. She could understand that, although it was the polar opposite of her being. She didn't have that issue at all. She was an open book—wide open—for all the world to see. She was an extrovert's extrovert, out there and happy about it. Happily, she gave her affection readily and wore her heart on her sleeve about most subjects.

However, there were a _few_ things she did keep under wraps, and she felt she did a good job with it. Some things about her life did not need to be public knowledge...like the undying torch she carried for her best friend. Considering that she was in a long term relationship with another man and considering that said torch-toting was one sided, becoming public would probably be a bad idea.

At that point, she felt a wash of tingles, like she usually did when she was around Derek. It was the weirdest part of their connection, this physical awareness that happened to both of them. Still, there was no reason to have that feeling—what would Derek be doing in a spa?—but she humored herself and looked up.

"Whoa…freaky…" she whispered.

Sure enough, she saw her best friend pass by the waiting room she was sitting in, following a slender woman in a tailored, uber-fashionable suit that looked like she meant business. That was strange, too; all the other people she'd seen had been lead away by a chatty person in a white lab coat.

That bizarre, tingling feeling rolled over her again, but this time, it wasn't pleasant—like something was off. This didn't seem right. That person leading him wasn't a typical, spa-type employee. Put that together with Derek…who, while exceptionally groomed, didn't seem like a frou-frou, pamper himself kind of guy…

Well, she put two and two together. He obviously wasn't there for typical spa services, so that left one very important question.

Why on Earth was he here?

She thought about stopping him, saying some sort of _Surprised to see you __here! _kind of comment, but she kept quiet. Watching him, she could tell there was something wrong again. Derek wasn't acting like Derek. He didn't glance into the room observantly like he always did. He didn't flirt with the pretty business woman leading him. Heck, he didn't even _look_like the Derek she knew and loved. This Derek looked blank, resigned…and somehow haunted.

Immediately, her internal radar went off. Something was wrong—terribly, utterly wrong. She could feel it deep in her bones... Derek needed her help.

Tossing aside her magazine, she stood immediately and went to investigate. Sneaking out of her waiting room, it was then she noticed another waiting room on the other side of the foyer. It was off to the side, rather secretive looking, like a private club room or something. It was yet an additional thing to add to the mystery. She frowned and then took off quickly to follow where Derek had gone.

Her heels clicked on the marble of the hallway, so she removed her shoes. It probably didn't matter—Derek and the chick in the black suit were making a lot of noise when they walked. They passed all the massage rooms, whirlpools, and sauna stuff on their way toward some rooms she hadn't known existed.

Suddenly, Derek and the woman stopped. Penelope ducked into a doorway, hoping they wouldn't turn. Grateful for her Spanx® making her somewhat smaller, she held her breath anyway, feeling like a secret agent, not a BAU tech.

The woman who had walked with Derek started making her way past Penelope, when she said, "He's all yours."

"Thank you," another woman's voice replied. Her voice was deep, sexy, and throaty, similar to Kathleen Turner's in _Body Heat._ She wondered what this woman looked like, and all sorts of erotic images filled her mind. Then, Penelope stifled a giggle, thinking about how Kathleen had ended up the transvestite father of Chandler Bing. So much for sexy voices…

"He's exceptionally beautiful," the first woman said, much breathier, with obvious appreciation in her tone.

"Every part of him," _Kathleen _replied knowingly, which told Penelope that Derek had been there before with this woman.

Was she a masseuse? Why would he come…back…to…

Penelope's face turned scarlet with embarrassment as she finally figured it out. _Of course_, that's what he was here for! It was _that_ kind of massage parlor. She'd heard about them nearby—with the politicians and diplomats in DC, it wasn't uncommon at all—and about the _happy ending_ services. He was single, and single guys got bored with their hands, and…um…well…

A second later, the deep voiced woman passed her hiding spot. She was dressed in all black like her comrade, but this time, it was leather, from top to bottom. She was svelte, with a long, inky black ponytail that hung down her back. In her hands was a pair of black gloves and a mask. Only her neck and face were currently showing.

She didn't look like a masseuse. No, sir. She looked far more formidable. She looked…like…

All the blood drained from her face, and her heart pounded in her chest uncomfortably.

"Oh, D…"


	3. Chapter 3

_AN: Thanks so much for the reviews—thank you for being so wonderful!...I know this story has a heavier feel, but I think it's so worth telling...As for the story...Pen has some preconcieved notions-do you?..._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

"Oh, D..." she whispered. She could feel her heart breaking as it tried to pump needed blood and oxygen throughout her body. She felt faint, dizzy, and uncomfortable, and the urge to throw up pressed urgently against her gullet. What he wanted…she shuddered violently. This wasn't right. This could never be right.

Derek was seeing someone who was going to punish him. Her sweet, beautiful Baby Boy deserved love and comfort and goodness and rainbows and lollipops. In the entire time she'd known him, he'd never done anything that wasn't good and honorable. He deserved the worship a chocolate god should have, not punishment!

She pictured all the things she thought about Dominatrices, and her stomach quivered again. Wicked women in leather—or pleather, most likely...leather wasn't cheap—who truly enjoyed when they insulted men and beat them to bring them twisted pleasure. They seemed evil to her, a control freak of the worst nature who got off on inflicting pain. She thought about the last few women Derek had dated, and she couldn't picture them being that way.

She thought about the men that enjoyed that kind of lifestyle, too, and thought of the kind of man who liked that kind of behavior. Most of them were submissive men who licked boots and liked to be tortured and picked on, like they were a nothing in the grand scheme of things. That completely turned her off; nothing would be more unappealing than a man without any spine. Derek was nothing like that! Even Kevin had more spine than those men, and he was far more easygoing and subservient than Morgan.

One time, Kevin had brought over a movie they'd watched. He'd thought it was very funny and kind of arousing, but Penelope had been abhorred. In it, a woman in a leather outfit and mask kicked and whipped a naked, extremely aroused man with a huge pink erection as he screamed and begged for mercy. All the while, the woman said, "You're a pig! A filthy swine. Hey, pig! Squeal like one!"

To Penelope's horror, the man had done exactly what his Mistress had commanded him to do.

Thinking about that movie disgusted her. She couldn't picture Derek doing that, being in a submissive role, wanting to succumb to some evil bitch's doing. That wasn't his way. It _couldn't_ be his way.

No, her Derek was strong, sure, and intelligent. Whatever had happened that made him think he needed this...something was very wrong.

She made up her mind that moment. She had to stop this. She couldn't let that happen to Derek—he was nothing like that man in the movie. Derek was everything that was good and trustworthy.

He was no pig! He was the man she loved more than anything, far more than Kevin…even more than her own life. She was one with Derek on a level unlike any other person—and if he thought she were in danger, he'd save her.

Hurrying to the door the dominatrix had entered, she stepped into the darkened room, praying that the sliver of light she let in wouldn't interrupt or be too obvious. She needed to speak with Derek, get him out of there, before it was too late.

Creeping soundlessly along the wall, she was grateful yet again that she'd taken off her heels. She took another two steps, crouching down low, before she finally saw Derek.

Her best friend was laying face down on a large, bed-like bench. He was completely naked, except for a dark cloth draped across his hips. His magnificent body was stretched out, deceivingly relaxed, like a lounging cougar watching prey. He'd turned his face the opposite direction from her, away from the door and any distractions. She'd wondered—

"I am going to give you five seconds to leave this room," that husky voice she was now familiar with hissed in her ear.

Oh, God! She'd been caught! She felt chills running down her spine, and her stomach hit her feet. Everything in her told her to run, but she wasn't going to do that. Derek needed her. She needed to stop this.

A moment later, the bitch slapped her hand over her mouth, twisted her ear, and propelled her out of the room.

"Hey!" Penelope yelped as she stumbled away, rubbing her sore ear.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" the Dominatrix snarled, glaring at her. "I should call security, and—"

"Hold it right there!" Penelope snapped back, her hands on her hips. "I'm his best friend, and I am not going to let you hurt him!"

The woman yanked off her mask. "Hurt him? He paid for this!"

"Give him a refund!"

The woman's brows rose. "Why would you think he'd want a refund? I give him pleasure."

"Sick and twisted pleasure!" Penelope waggled a finger in the woman's face. "I don't know what you did to make my BFF think he needs to be insulted, called a pig, and kicked, but he doesn't need that!"

Amusement toyed with the Dominatrix's lips, which simply made Penelope more angry.

"Listen, you wicked witch, you—"

"Hush!" she ordered, before smirking. "Quiet down, _Dorothy_, or I may need to kick you out of Oz."

Penelope ignored her and the tears that threatened to rise in her eyes. "He's good and kind and wonderful. He's strong and vital and everything a man should be!" She felt like she was fighting for Derek's life, his very soul.

The woman nodded. "I can believe that."

"And he's _not_ submissive!" Penelope added with a flourish, a rather "nah-nah" kind of statement, but it was how she felt.

The Dominatrix nodded blankly. "I would agree with you on that point."

"So let him go!" Penelope railed. Then she tried reasoning. "This is not him; I know it isn't. I know with every breath in my body, and he—"

"He's your best friend, hmmm?" the woman asked, interrupting Penelope.

"Yes!" she cried.

"Well, _best friend_," the woman said with mild amusement again before continuing, "I am not hurting your man in the least. I am giving him a service he desires and pays for." She narrowed her eyes at Penelope. "There is no insulting. There is no kicking…and there is one person who is clearly in control in that room."

"My God..." Garcia could feel her eyes tearing up, her chin quivering. What was going on in Derek's mind?

She wasn't the kind that begged, but she would do it to save Derek. "Please…don't hurt him. He's been hurt so much."

The woman watched her intently for a long time before she finally spoke.

"You love him very much." It was more a statement, not a question.

When Penelope answered, she knew it was how she truly felt. "More than anything else in this world."

"And you would protect him?"

"With my life," she answered truthfully. A few tears leaked out, splashing down her cheeks, and she wiped away at the annoying trickle.

The dark, nearly black eyes of the woman bore into hers. After a long moment, she nodded, as if she'd come to a silent conclusion of some sort. She turned and reached for the knob. "Then come with me and see what he needs right now."

"No!" Penelope said, shaking her head quickly, suddenly afraid. "I can't, I...I..."

"This isn't about you!" the dominatrix hissed. "This is about him and how he feels. I am taking a huge risk letting you in there—I could lose my job—but if you love him as much as you say you do, you'll watch...and learn about him."

Could she do this? Could she see something that frightened her so terribly, and yet...intrigued her? To her certain mortification, she knew she was intrigued, even strangely aroused by how taboo this was. However, beyond her basic thoughts, she knew the real reason she would agree to it. She wanted to know about him—everything about him.

She had to do this. She had to know.

With a shaky exhale, she nodded and followed the woman into the room.


	4. Chapter 4

_AN: As always, thank you for your reviews. This is a very strong, yet pivotal chapter. It is the darkest chapter of this story. Understandably, this chapter will be hard for some to read, like it is hard for Penelope to watch. Know that the next chapter goes into Derek's mind, so we can get a better understanding of why _

* * *

><p><strong>Warning: Contains some violence and adult themes<strong>

**Chapter 4**

As she stepped farther into the doorway, Penelope was enveloped in the dimly lit, oddly quiet room. She had to squint to let her eyes adjust to the darkness. She tried to move in more, but the woman held her back toward a corner. She could still clearly see Derek: the rise and fall of his wide back with each steady, deep breath he took, the sinewy muscles on his arms reaching upward outward in deceitful laziness.

Even in the near blackness of the room, she could see the tension in his form.

The woman had donned her mask; she placed her finger to her lips, warning Penelope to keep her silence. At Penelope's nod of understanding, she rounded the table, coming to rest in front of Derek.

"Hello, sir."

"You took long enough," he muttered in an irritated, nearly agitated tone of voice. Penelope had rarely heard him use that tone, and he'd never spoken that way toward her.

"I am sorry, sir; forgive me."

The woman's repentant voice sounded odd to Penelope, like she was begging Derek. What Dominatrix begs her submissive? Something was off…

She heard his sigh from across the room. "I've told you before—you don't need to call me that. Just Derek will do."

"Yes, Derek."

Penelope felt that strange feeling again, like she was on another planet. What he'd said…that had sounded a little like her Hot Stuff. He wouldn't want to be called sir or Master; that wasn't his style.

However, he wasn't at all friendly. She noticed that he never looked up, never smiled or even had casual conversation with this woman. She was a gorgeous brunette—absolutely stunning—and Penelope had a feeling Derek had no idea what she looked like.

"The usual, Derek?" the woman asked, glancing up at Penelope and meeting her eyes across the room.

"Yes," he answered gruffly.

As soon as he'd answered, the woman walked across the room and grabbed what looked like...

Dear God...it was like a whip! On second look, it wasn't quite a whip, exactly. Not as thin as she thought a whip would be—it was a flat, thick, cushioned, like a belt of some sort with a handle.

Penelope was about to protest when the Dominatrix met her eyes again, silencing her from across the room. She bit her lip, so hard she could taste the coppery tinge of blood.

The woman held Penelope's eyes and said with no inflection, "Hard or soft, Derek?"

"It doesn't matter." The words and the tone he said them—bleak, hopeless—twisted Penelope's heart in her chest. "Just make me forget."

The woman let the whip unwind, and then with a flick of her wrist, landed the leather strap against his back. The sound of that whip hitting his skin was deafening in the overly quiet room. It made Penelope jump, jolting like she was the one that had been struck, and her eyes stung with tears.

Penelope bit harder on her lip as the woman struck him again, the leather crisscrossing the spot where it had been before, and then again in a methodical pattern. She flinched every time, and she could feel her cheeks becoming wet and itchy with the flow of her own tears.

_Please, stop…Please…Please don't hurt him…_

Watching in fascination as reddened marks appeared on his skin, she stood there, transfixed. There was a cadence to the movements, the woman's hand raising, a few seconds later, the lash wrapping around his ribs on the T-shaped table. Penelope noticed the precision with which the woman placed the lashes. She was methodical, determined, and practiced almost caution and a sort of sick care with her strikes.

However, what she noticed the most was Derek.

He amazed her more than anything. There were no cuts or bruises, but there was definite damage; this woman had to be causing him pain. However, Derek did not flinch. He didn't even move. He didn't grip the bars at the end of the bench, obviously meant for people to hold onto while they took their punishment. Instead, Derek remained still, strong, unmoving…

_Utterly in control_.

She knew then without a doubt that this _was_ what Derek wanted. Despite his misgivings at the name, he was the Master in this room, not the woman. She was his servant, doing what he'd asked. Calling her a Dominatrix had been wrong: she was no more in control of the situation than Penelope was. Derek called the shots, requested the pain, and took it without any mercy to himself.

No mercy.

She swayed in her spot as her heart beat erratically. She couldn't do this! She couldn't stand here for this while someone beat him at his own request. Her stomach churned, and bile rose in her throat. She fought it down and continued to watch the _civilized_ flogging. What had he done so wrong, what crime had he committed in his own mind that he felt he needed to torture himself like this?

She had to fight everything in her not to run and lay on top of him, to take the hits instead of him. It was eating her up inside. He would do it for her. He would protect her from anything—even herself. She had to stop this, and yet, she couldn't do anything.

_He wants this…You need to watch and learn…It's wrong, but he wants this…There has to be a reason…_

As her conscience warred with her, she knew she needed to be closer to him, to see him, to make sure he was okay. She moved steps forward, disobeying, inching down the wall. She had to be closer—she _had_ to—yet she kept one hand on the wall. It was like she was afraid of what she would see, and yet she needed to know. It was a macabre desire, like coming across a car wreck on the freeway and being unable to look away.

She was at the level of his waist. He was sweating now; she could see the rivulets of sweat rolling down his back, coating the dark towel resting on his hips. He twitched with each strike, like he finally felt the torture he was enduring. His cleanly shaven scalp was glistening with moisture, and his muscles were more bunched at his arms.

_He's hurting…This has to stop…_

Wiping her eyes, she looked up at the woman, pleading in her eyes, but she shook her head and gave Penelope a warning look. Even as the woman glanced at her, she continued to deliver the strikes as slowly and methodically as before.

Penelope was done. She'd take the beating; to hell with this woman, her _lesson _for Penelope, and her job! She stepped even closer, her fingers itching to hold him, doctor his wounds, care for him. God, what she wouldn't do to hold him!

She needed to see his face, to see her Derek. Pushing completely away from the wall, she stumbled the few steps to the head of the table.

What she saw shocked her…

He was focused; he looked like he was in another world. His eyes were fixated on something ahead of him, his expression emotionless and blank…and yet…there was something there…something she couldn't quite fathom.

Something peaceful…almost beautiful.

His body became limp, no longer tensed or flexed. He looked exhausted, spent…like he'd had been fighting some sort of demon…and now he was done with the fight. Whether he'd lost or won, she hadn't a clue.

And then, slowly, ever so slowly, she watched his eyes fill with moisture. He gave a slow blink, and two lustrous droplets rolled down his cheeks, and then followed by more, and more, a silent weeping that bespoke of suffering far more than physical pain.

She'd never seen him cry. In the over seven years she'd known him, she'd never seen him cry.

Her face crumpled, and she sobbed silently, somehow finding understanding and yet still completely in the dark. She wanted to help him, wanted to let him cry, help him find a release for this damning hurt he felt…_all_ of his hurt.

Suddenly, she heard him whisper roughly in a tear-soaked voice, "Okay...That's enough."

The woman coiled her rope again and answered back in an equally quavering voice, "Yes, sir."

The whole thing had lasted no more than ten minutes from the time she entered the room until he called a halt to it, and yet it had seemed like hours to her. Penelope was going to be sick. She needed to get out of there, and pronto. She turned and fled from the dark room, bumping into the door and knocking things over as she exited.

She never realized she'd lost the yellow flower she'd had pinned in her hair when she left...


	5. Chapter 5

_AN: Thanks so much for the reviews and for giving this story a chance. I know it is unconventional and tense, but there's a reason I chose it to be my millionth word...This chapter marks that milestone, by the way!...I am running late, so I can't get to answering reviews yet, but I wanted to get this out there...Thank you to JenRar and Harleyzgirl for the edit! *mwah*_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

Derek lay face down on the table, spent and exhausted, the ache in his chest relieved even as his back still stung and smarted. When he regained his strength, he pressed himself upward on to his forearms and then swung his legs over the side of the table. He rolled his shoulders and winced at the feeling of the abraded flesh stretching taut. He could feel a trickle—a slightly wet tickle—running between his shoulder blades. She might've drawn blood tonight. That was okay. He'd needed it.

As much as he'd wanted this tonight, he'd had a hard time with it. This was a tough one compared to what he usually had in the chamber. It had been harder for him to lose his inhibitions and let go, and he knew exactly why.

Penelope.

He couldn't get her off his mind. Over and over in his head, he'd heard her voice, seen her face…wondered about her. For some reason, she was in his mind, a constant presence. The last place on Earth he'd want her to be. Hell, he could even _smell_ her: the warm scent of vanilla and the sweet scent of pears rolling over him during the darkest, most physically excruciating moments, reminding him of who he was. It was as if she were trying to calm him, even from afar like she did on the phone nearly every day. His eternal solace.

He ran his hands over his still sweaty face and felt goose bumps rising on his chilled skin. She knew to blast the air conditioning after they were done and to leave cotton towels for clean up. He commanded it, so it was done. He thought of the bizarre irony in the situation, that she was so into his comfort now, considering what he'd asked her to do.

He was a sick son of a bitch...that's what he was.

It had started a long time ago, this growing need of his. It wasn't long after his dad died. He remembered very distinctly, standing at his father's wake. He'd been stoic, strong. He'd had to be. So many relatives had drilled it into his brain. "Be strong, son. You need to be strong for your mother. You're the man of the house now…"

Four years later, he'd still been strong. His aunt had died, his mother's sister, and he'd held his mom while she cried. He had never cried. Even though Marnie had been his favorite aunt, he hadn't cried. He'd wanted to—more than anything, he'd wanted to cry and feel maybe a little better afterward—but he couldn't. He'd been thirteen, the age when Carl Buford was in his life, and he'd felt out of control and miserable...but not when it came to his family. He'd never let them down.

After his aunt's funeral, he'd stepped outside and taken a deep breath to regain his senses, but nothing had helped the spiraling, antsy feeling he'd had inside. He had felt like running—from his troubles, his responsibilities…his life.

So he had.

Taking off as fast as his legs could carry him, Derek had run through the mean streets of Chicago, running in his poorly fitting suit and fancy shoes his mother had said he'd needed to wear. He'd run, tripping over his feet and nearly falling, but still going as fast as he could. He'd run until his feet had developed blisters and each step had been agony. He'd run until he'd collapsed in a park seven miles from his home.

And then he'd cried.

He didn't know why lying there in the park, aching and bleeding, he'd been able to cry when he couldn't before. Maybe the pain had given him an excuse to cry, to totally let go, like a wood shard stuck in a finger. It hurt like a sonofabitch, but once it was gone, it was pure relief. It took him years to find a similar sensation…and he had to fucking pay for it.

Reaching for the towel lying on the cart at the end of the table, he started to wipe the sweat from his face, chest, and arms. He didn't gently perspire like other men; he sweated. The thirsty terry towel that had been tied around his waist was soaked; he undid it, noticing a few pink tinges.

Yeah. She'd drawn blood.

Sick…he was sick. Emotionally challenged. It was best that everyone kept their distance—especially someone like Penelope.

Flinging the towel into the corner, he heard a skidding sound when it hit the ground, like it contained metal. Frowning, he padded over on his bare feet and kicked the towel aside...and then felt like he'd been sucker punched in the gut.

* * *

><p>"Hey, baby."<p>

The greeting was typical of her best friend, and the day was typical in all ways. She tried to pretend that she was cool, calm, and collected—or at least not different than normal—but her insides were twisting and her stomach hurt. The main problem was, everything was not normal.

Her best friend got a thrill out of something repugnant to her, and she couldn't look him in the eyes knowing it.

She still couldn't understand why he needed...what he needed. She understood the gratification, had seen the emotional release, but...why...how come…when? She had so many questions, and they were all ones she could never ask, would never be answered, as long as she lived.

Being born innately curious, that really sucked.

She couldn't do it, because Derek was private. _Very_ private. She'd found out little things about him all the time over the years, things he probably wouldn't want her knowing, even though they were the best of friends and didn't keep much from each other, and she didn't tell him she knew. But this was different. Considering he'd hidden crying from her for seven years, he'd be appalled if he knew she had been there.

To make matters worse, he'd be even more appalled to know that she was feeling terrible about it. He didn't like her to be upset at all, and she _was_ upset. She couldn't understand why a man would want to be tortured, especially intrinsically wonderful men like Derek. She couldn't understand why he felt this was necessary to his well being. She was also very angry at that bitch for hurting him—job or no job. She would _never_ hurt him, even if he freaking _begged_ her to do it! But most of all, she was very, very...

Hurt.

Why hadn't he come to her instead? Why didn't he cry on her shoulder? God, she'd done that numerous times to him, cried on his shoulder, let him be her support. She was strong; she could be his support for once. That's what friendship was all about. Why would he choose this atrocity instead?

She didn't want to lose him. He meant the world to her, and she would never want to jeopardize their friendship. So she plastered a smile on her face, turned, and said, "Hello, lover. How was your weekend?"

Stepping farther into her lair, he stopped just in front of her and kissed the top of her head. "Wonderful. Yours?"

"Uneventful," she lied, turning back to her computer. She had to turn back; she wanted to peel his shirt up, see if the welts were still there, and then kiss each one of them.

He arched a brow at her. "Didn't do anything exciting? Anything...different?"

"Noooooo," she said, drawing the last syllable out. It wasn't like him to question her. "Why?"

Taking his usual seat on the corner of her desk, he shrugged and said, "Nothing. Just kind of boring for a girl like you. Usually, Lynch does some sort of thrilling thing with you...like take you to dinner."

Internally, she groaned. She'd been so upset by what she'd seen, she'd canceled out on Kevin. "Just...didn't feel much like going out. I stayed in most of the time."

"Oh."

She could feel a frown coming on. "Oh? What do you mean, _oh_?"

"Nothing." He grinned at her, the grin of the cat that had the canary cornered, which bothered her even more. "Just oh."

Her brow wrinkled, and she felt like stomping her foot. "Derek. I know that _oh_, and it is never just _oh_."

He chuckled and then leaned forward and tapped her nose with his long finger. "Quite the little profiler, aren't you?"

"Morgan—"

"What are you up to tonight?" he asked, not letting her finish what she was going to say. "Think you could come over for a little while?"

Penelope felt her heart speed up in her chest. "Why?"

"Can't I want to spend some time with my best friend?" he questioned, his brow adding the punctuation. Derek had the most expressive eyes and eyebrows of any man she'd ever met.

"Well, of course, but—"

"I bought some mesquite charcoal, I got a bottle of red wine with your name on it chillin' in my basement—just two glasses for you, baby—and I got some mahi mahi and extra large shrimp ready for the barbie," he cajoled convincingly. "Now all I need is the girl and the dinner conversation, and I will have a damned good night."

Deep down, she longed to go. It had been far too long since they'd done dinner together. It sounded wonderful; he'd painted a fabulous picture. Nevertheless, she didn't know if she was ready to be alone with him. She had too many questions, and he was acting so strangely. Something could go terribly wrong, and she didn't want that to happen.

Then she thought about what had happened and why she was most upset. Maybe he wanted to talk about what was bothering him, and this was her opportunity?

"All right, sweet cheeks, I'll come," she answered.

"Good," he said, sounding a little surprised, but pleased. "Very good."

"Should I bring anything?"

"Just your delectable self, Baby Girl."

"That I can do, angelfish."

"You're for sure coming?" he asked, standing up from the desk. "No last minute cancellations for Lynch, right?"

It was her turn to arch her brow. "Since when do I ever cancel on you?"

It was true. She never canceled on her evenings with Derek.

"Just saying. I don't want anything to come up," he said, winking at her. "I'm looking forward to our time together...and our conversation."

Normally, she would've laughed, but there was something off in the way he'd just spoken. Something was not quite right. She could feel it; the tension there was so thick, you could gut it with a knife. His expression, too...his expression...somewhat guarded...somewhat hidden...it reminded her...

Oh, God...did he?...He couldn't have...how could he…could he?

"Okay," she said cautiously, curiosity and dread filling her. "What are we going to discuss?"

He reached into his pocket and tossed her yellow flowered barrette on her desk. "This."


	6. Chapter 6

_AN: Thanks so much for the reviews...Posting a little bit early, just because..._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

When Penelope arrived at his house later that evening, one of the first things Derek noticed was that she nervous—very nervous—like she was ready to jump out of her skin at any second. He knew she'd be worrying—he hadn't tossed down that barrette without knowing the response he'd get—but he hadn't expected this much anxiety. She was antsy and had even jumped when he stepped behind her to take her coat.

There was no doubting it; he _was_ mad. He was furiously angry, and worse than that, he felt hurt and betrayed. Penelope, more than any other person besides maybe Hotch and Gideon, knew better than to pry into his personal business. She should've left well enough alone. He'd wanted her to stew, to think about her actions, her betrayal…

However, the moment he saw her face, that hesitant look, so cautious and careful, his breath caught in his throat. Did she _fear_ him?

"Sweetheart, calm down," he ordered in a soothing voice, keeping his hands on her shoulders and rubbing just slightly, his instinct to protect and calm her overtaking any anger he'd had. "I'm not going to hurt you."

She turned, her midnight blue eyes huge and luminous, like a deer caught in the headlights. "I know that."

He cupped her face in his hand, gently smoothing his thumb over her high cheekbone, feeling her velvety skin. She was the most touchable woman on Earth. So many times, they'd watched movies together, her soft body yielding against his as she fell asleep in his arms. It was those moments and others like them that he couldn't help himself. He'd touch her hand, the inside of her wrist, drawing indistinct patterns on that beautiful canvas, like an artist with a brush…

He cleared his suddenly husky throat. "Let's have dinner first," he murmured, "and then we can talk."

A slow tremble rumbled through her; he could feel the vibration on his fingertips. She took an unsteady breath as she stepped away from him and then nodded quickly.

She followed him to the dinner table, and he pulled a chair out for her. Taking her seat, she crossed her curvy legs, but that didn't stop him from noticing her knee rapidly tapping up and down. She folded her hands over them and looked up at him, giving him a tight smile. "Wh-What are we having again?"

He took his seat next to her. "I have some shrimp and some mahi mahi filets I was going to grill. I marinated them in your favorite garlic sauce," he said, watching her shift uncomfortably. "I have a salad, too."

"Sounds g-good," she answered in a voice that sounded like she found it anything _but_ good.

He gave a snort of laughter at her little lie and then held up a bottle of Pinot Noir. It was her favorite. "Glass of wine?"

"Sure."

Uncorking the wine, he poured her a glass, inhaling the faint cherry and vanilla aromas of the crimson liquid. He offered her the glass.

Taking the glass, she took a nervous gulp and then went to place it on the table. Her aim was off slightly; she ended up spilling it on the white linen tablecloth he'd placed out for the occasion.

"Frack!" she cried, mopping at the rapidly spreading stain with a napkin she nabbed from the table. "I'm sorry."

Derek sighed and closed his eyes. This was going to be a disaster if they tried to eat; she'd probably choke to death. She was freaked out already, looking like she wanted to bolt. Her eyes had even darted to the door a few times. Everything was completely wrong, felt completely different, between them.

He swore under his breath, knowing what he'd always thought was correct: some things about him should've never been shared…

Standing, he walked rapidly to her chair and pulled it out. "Up."

"What about dinner?" she asked with a confused look, rising to her feet.

Derek grabbed the bottle of wine and two glasses in one hand and her hand in his other. "Talk first, dinner later."

"Okay," she said nervously as he dragged her to the couch.

* * *

><p>Penelope's heart was pounding so hard, she could feel the rapid pulse in her ears. It was her flight or fight mechanism kicking in; everything was telling her to run like hell, when she wanted to fight for their friendship, fight for their life.<p>

She knew she was being ridiculous, being so nervous, but that didn't stop her from feeling that way. She'd tried to reason with herself numerous times... This was Morgan, for heaven's sake. Her gentle, kind, sweetheart, angel fish, love muffin, teddy bear of a best friend.

Who just happened to occasionally like being whipped.

"Drink this," he said, shoving the wine glass in her hands after she sank into his leather couch.

She took a sip.

"Uh-uh. Whole thing," he ordered, scowling slightly at her.

That irritated her. She frowned back at him. "I do not guzzle wine; I savor it."

"Not this time. Drink it."

"Morgan, you know what wine does to me!" she huffed angrily.

"Woman, you keep looking at me like I'm the damned boogeyman," he snapped with a growl. "Nothing is going to get accomplished if you keep doing that."

She put her chin in the air defiantly. "I am not."

"Baby, yes, you are. You need to relax."

"I am relaxed."

Narrowing his eyes, he gave her a look that did nothing to settle her nerves. "I am not arguing with you. Drink the fucking wine."

Glaring back at him, she slammed the wine glass on the table and hauled herself from the plush couch to her feet. She put her hands on her hips and hissed, "You do not need to swear at me. I'm going home."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

She hated that type of response from him, where he left something hanging, like a skin tag from the bottom of an arm. It was _never_ the end. Well, this time, it would be!

She started toward the door, knowing deep down as much as he did that she wouldn't be leaving. He'd have some sort of smart ass comment—

"We can do this another night."

Spinning around, she yelled, "What makes you think I am going to stick around, or come back, so you can act like a jerk? You're a stupid ass if you think—"

"Because you're curious," he interrupted, starting to walk toward her. "I saw it in your eyes in your office, and I can see it now. I know what you're thinking, little girl, so give it up."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "You do not. Stay over there!"

"And you were wrong," he continued, walking over to her and paying no heed to what she'd said.

She raised her chin haughtily and her spine was ramrod stiff, as that guilty feeling flushed over her body again. She shouldn't have watched. She should've let him be, not tried to fix things. She knew exactly how she was wrong…even though she was trying to help him.

Still, she asked, "How am I wrong?"

He was standing right in front of her. "You were wrong to intrude in my private affairs."

"I didn't..." she began, but then stopped herself. She wasn't a liar.

He arched an accusing brow at her. "Once you figured out it had a sexual component—and you figured that out before you entered the room, I know you did—you should've left."

She knew her cheeks were scarlet, and she hated it. In fact, she hated him right now.

He shook his head in such a shaming fashion; she could practically hear the clicking of his tongue. "I wouldn't have done that to you, Penelope. Some things are meant to be private."

"I didn't mean to do that," she answered in her defense. She hadn't…not really. Her gut churned painfully again. Deep down, she knew if that woman _had_ done it with him…she didn't know if she could've left, either. She had been that transfixed, that mesmerized, by what she was seeing.

"How would you feel? Imagine if I had sneaked in and watched while Lynch fucked you."

She gasped, and her eyes flew open wide. "Don't be crude."

"I wouldn't do that to you," he said, as if she hadn't talked.

"Good!" she cried.

He ignored her again, continuing, "_But if I __had..._I wouldn't judge you for it. If you were hanging from the ceiling while he was kneeling between your legs, or if he had you in cuffs and a collar, or if he was spanking your pretty white ass until it was red and swollen like a ripe cherry, I wouldn't judge."

"Kevin wouldn't do that!"

He shrugged again and said blandly, "More's the pity."

"Oooh!" she snapped, shoving against his chest. She needed her personal space. "You suck!"

"No," he said, holding her wrists. "I'm right, and you don't like it."

She tried to yank her hands away, but failed. "That's what you think! Let me go!"

"So you can slap at me again?" he asked incredulously. "Hell, no."

"Like my little shove is _anything_ next to what you like!" she spat.

"There you go…judging yet again."

Continuing to struggle, she growled angrily. "I wasn't...Ooh! Let me go!"

"Only if you promise to sit your ass down, drink your wine, and behave like a good girl."

He could've knocked Penelope over with a feather, she was so stunned...and then she was pissed. "_What_ did you say?"

His smile was irritating. "You heard me."

"I will not!"

"Then we can stand here like this all night," he said.

"Arrrgh!" she yelled, renewing her struggles until she was panting, although he seemed unfazed.

He grinned at her again. "Done pitching a hissy fit?"

"You!" she snapped. She blew the hair, which had come out of the barrette she was wearing, out of her eyes. "Okay. You win. I'll sit."

He released one of her wrists, and immediately, she shoved at him and tried for the door, but he caught her again quickly.

"Okay!" she panted. "You win. I promise."

Something in her look or her tone must've vouched for her sincerity, because he did release her. She plopped down on the couch and began to rub her newly freed wrists. They were reddened and a bit sore from his rough treatment.

Immediately, he was kneeling in front of her between her feet. "Here, let me see."

She placed her hands in his willingly this time, so different from before. Gently, gingerly, he ran his thumb along her wrist, and she winced when he touched a particularly red spot.

He continued to rub her wrists, softly, methodically. His voice was husky and unreadable as he murmured, "I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you, Penelope."

"Well, you did!" she snapped, all of the anguish she was feeling coming to her eyes. "You hurt my feelings, and you are wrong, too."

"How?" he asked softly. He leaned down and kissed each of her wrists.

"Number one, I wasn't scared of you," she countered back.

"Yes, you were."

"No, I wasn't," she argued, reaching for her glass. She drank most of the wine. "I wasn't judging you, I wasn't there for a thrill, and I wasn't scared."

"You sure as hell looked scared," he said, like he didn't quite believe her. "Hell, baby, you were about to jump out of your skin when you saw me."

She shook her head. "I was nervous, but I wasn't scared."

"Because I knew you were there?"

"No," she answered. "Not completely." She swallowed hard. "I was nervous when I first…saw you there."

A shuttered look overcame Derek's features. "I see."

"No, you don't see!" she snapped. "And if anyone is judging anyone, Derek Morgan, it's _you_!"


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Thank you for the reviews! Exploring just a bit more...

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

Derek narrowed his eyes at her. "What do you mean by that?"

She frowned back at him. "You're judging me by thinking I won't understand—"

"You won't."

"There you go," she said, arching her brow at him, "judging me again."

It was similar to what he'd said to her, however she was wrong. He didn't consider it judging in his case—he considered it fact. He'd realized the moment she'd been in the chamber, things would never be the same between them. Never. She would forever look at him in a skewed fashion. He didn't expect her to understand, and if he was being honest, he wasn't certain he really _wanted_ her to—he'd rather protect her from his darker side.

He thought about what it meant to be there inside the chamber. What happened inside there was a private lifestyle. It was something a few "privileged" individuals would experience and share with each other.

His time in the room had started in a rather ordinary way. Like most red-blooded males, Derek loved sex. He knew he was good looking—he worked hard at it—so it was never hard for him to get laid. He wasn't exactly arrogant about it, but when he was dating actively, he could tell when a woman appreciated what she saw...and when she would be willing to spend some time with him naked.

After nearly twenty-five years of hunting for bed partners, sleeping with his choice of beautiful woman after beautiful woman, night after night, had brought something he'd never expected: boredom. He found that he didn't want to fuck simply for recreational purposes. It didn't do anything for him. He got off—he didn't have any problems with Little Derek—but it wasn't as satisfying as it once had been.

One evening, after a particularly long dry spell, he'd had an epiphany. He'd been extremely stressed out and confused about his own feelings. Jim, one of his good friends in the Corp, had dropped dead of a heart attack right in front of him on an obstacle course. He'd been a good guy, the exact same age as Derek had been at the time. It had been an area that only two people could fit in, and Derek had performed CPR for a long time on his friend, but he'd been gone nearly instantly.

Derek had been commended for his duty and had been given some personal leave. He'd gone to the bar to drink away some stress, aggression, and some self-pity, and had ended up screwing instead. He'd found a tall brunette with as many tattoos as he had and an interesting piercing that tickled when she gave head. She'd been kinky as hell, had liked some wild shit, and had made him come like a fire hose. An accountant by day, a harlot by night, she'd been a blast. It wasn't long term—hell, no—and it certainly had nothing to do with love.

It was, however, exactly what he'd needed at that time.

Two weeks into seeing her, she'd explained that she liked an alternative lifestyle, and she'd wanted to take him along. Derek had been game; she'd been fun, and he'd enjoyed everything she'd had to show him so far.

He'd almost changed his mind that first day. He'd had major stress, he'd felt guilty as hell over not being able to save Jim, and he hadn't been in the mood to have intercourse. He'd told her that, but she'd been insistent.

"It'll be good for you," she'd said.

He'd entered the spa, wondering what the deal was. It was the most frou-frou, pampered place he'd ever been in before, and Darcy had not looked like a high maintenance kind of girl. Going back to the side rooms, he realized then that this was not your average spa.

They'd strapped him down that first time on the table, and he'd fought like hell to escape, cursing and yelling...but for some reason, never using the safe word they had told him to use if he'd had too much. Something inside him had told him to wait, even that very first time.

It had stung.

He'd bled.

It had hurt like a motherfucker.

And he'd found release.

Not just sexually, but emotionally and spiritually. He hadn't thought of a single thing besides those blows, hadn't been able to focus on anything besides the here and now, the pain and the subsequent pleasure and afterglow. It had reminded him of the time he'd been in the park after Aunt Marnie's funeral—that bone deep sorrow that had been released—and it all clicked inside of him.

It was sick, it was crazy, but he'd gained control by losing it, by letting himself hurt more than he hurt inside...if only for that one moment.

It wasn't somewhere he went often. He wasn't your average masochist, and he certainly wasn't a sadist, although several women had offered themselves up to him for a good public whipping. He loved to be in control—there was no doubt that he was Dominant—and there were lots of other women that liked that kink.

He knew it was a kink, too, a fetish that he'd never expected to be drawn to, but drawn he was... and it was _his_ kink. He'd never been able to find an outlet like it outside of the chamber...in fact, he'd barely cried in his real life. He saw the worst shit mankind could dish out on each other, and it pissed him off, but it didn't make him cry.

Somehow, it all went hand in hand: emotional control, physical control, and sexual control for heightened and sustained pleasure. He felt free there. Why it did, and why he had that response...he didn't really know. Explaining that to a woman...even to his Baby Girl...How did he do that, when he didn't understand it completely himself?

He glanced over at Penelope, her sweet, sensitive face defiantly waiting for him to answer. She knew him better than anyone on Earth; he didn't let many in closer to him than she was. A flare of hope rose in him as he thought about what she'd said. He was judging her, and judging his own lifestyle, because it didn't fit the profile he'd done of himself. Maybe he'd been wrong? Maybe she could understand-

"_Like my little shove is anything next to what you like!"_

Those words came back to haunt him. No... those words, and how haunted and appalled she'd looked, told him it was best to stay guarded.

"You never should've been there," he said coolly, keeping his aloof tone, although his mind was raging and his gut churned as he put up the force shields that separated his heart from any possible hurt…even from her.

He judged himself enough, after all...he didn't need her doing it, too.

"I'm sorry I invaded your privacy," she said quickly, looking earnest, "but I had to see with my own eyes."

* * *

><p>Penelope watched Derek and felt her heart pounding. Icy fingers of regret curled down her spine, but she had to press forward. She hadn't meant to get so angry; it was like Derek was purposefully pushing her buttons to make her mad, to make her go away, and she wasn't going to do that…no matter what.<p>

She could tell that for some reason, he didn't like that last comment—hadn't expected it, either. His brows shot up and then came down over the bridge of his perfect nose.

"What do you mean, you had to see?" His scowl turned into a nasty grin that just wasn't like her Derek. "Did you follow me? Were you bored with your no-frills Lynch, so you needed to peer in and see how the other half rolls?"

"No!"

"Baby, if you ever wanted a look..." he drawled with a smirk that wasn't the least bit sexy, reaching for his belt buckle.

"Please, no." She could feel her cheeks heating.

He was so defensive, striking out at her and scaring her, like he wanted her to bolt. It was hard to make contact with him, to see the real Derek she loved. She'd known it would be hard to talk to him when he was so angry. Derek didn't let many people in, and if he felt betrayed, he'd put up impenetrable walls.

"Why, then?" he snarled.

"If you'd listen without interrupting, I'd tell you!" she snarled back. She was in a fight for their friendship—their life—together; she wasn't about to back down.

After bristling for a second, he sat and crossed his ankle on his knee. She had his full attention now; she knew she'd better make it good.

"I was cashing in my certificates to get a massage. I was in a waiting room, when I saw you walk by," she said quickly. "You didn't look like you. There was something wrong." She met his eyes, held them. "I could sense it."

A muscle in his cheek twitched, indicating that he was listening and that something had struck a chord, but he didn't say a word.

She continued bravely. "Out of curiosity, I followed, wondering what was going to happen…"

"I was in the back rooms of a massage parlor, sweetheart. What did you _think_ was going to happen?" he asked, his tone emotionless, perhaps slightly accusing. It hurt, but she pressed on.

"I didn't know. I didn't think that way. I swear, I didn't," she said. "I was worried about you, the way you looked when you passed me." She gave him a look with the concern she' felt, watching him walk by, so blank and resigned. "You looked so sad."

She could see a flicker of emotion in his eyes, but he didn't say a word.

"And then I heard that woman talking."

He uncrossed his ankle and sat up, looking at her. "What woman?"

"The woman who was in the chamber with you. She looked…I don't know!" She sighed heavily and then frowned as she said, "She looked exactly like a dominatrix."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "And that, gorgeous, is where you _should've_ left."

"I couldn't!" she cried, her heart so sore, it felt bruised. She couldn't meet his accusing eyes anymore; she hung her head in defeat and her eyes stung with tears. She whispered softly, "I wanted to protect you."

She heard a muffled curse coming from him, and a second later, he was standing in front of her and his hands were gently on her arms.

She looked up to see sadness, regret, and a lingering touch of anger on his face. "Baby, I'm sorry...you...it's..." He sighed heavily, like the weight of the world was on his broad shoulders, and then cupped her face in hands. "You're too innocent for...damn!" he muttered, and then looked upward in frustration. "How do I even begin?"

"That lady hurt you, Derek," she murmured quietly, giving voice to the thing that hurt her the most. She'd had to watch that, and it had nearly killed her.

"She didn't hurt me, Penelope."

"She _hurt_ you," she choked out, and she could feel her throat constricting, filling with tears.

He released her, took a step back, and said plainly, "She did what I ordered her to do."

"Why?" she cried, stepping forward. She angrily brushed away a tear that rolled down her cheek. "Why would you ask for that, Derek?"

He held her gaze with his emotionless eyes. "You saw. You know why."

She hated this. She didn't understand him or the reason for what he'd done to himself. She hated that woman, hated this night. She hated feeling so confused, like she wanted to scream at him and comfort him at the same time. She hated everything…except him.

"I just don't understand," she said miserably.

"I don't expect you to."

"That's not good enough! I'm your best friend; why can't you cry to me?"

"Baby, I can't," he said, sounding exasperated and upset at the same time. "Damn it, if I could, I would."

"If you hurt, you should tell me. Come to me," she pleaded, "like I do to you."

He ran a hand over his face in acute frustration. "Sweetheart, it isn't that simple."

"Yes it is!" she exclaimed, reaching up to cradle his face in her hands, like he had done for her so many times. "Derek...I love you. I'm there for you."

The warm flicker of emotion rolled though his eyes, settled on his face, and then he closed his eyes. He turned his cheek into her palm, kissing it softly. "Baby, I know you are, and I appreciate it. I love you, too."

She smiled at him through blurry eyes, so happy to still have his love. "Then..."

His large hands covered hers, removed them from his face, and he held her hands in his. "But there are some things you can't provide for me when I am upset, some things that I need that you couldn't possibly understand."

She reached for his face again. "Yes, I can..."

"No, sweetheart," he commented, stepping back.

"That's where you're judging me!"

He chuckled bitterly. "What?"

"Don't judge what I can and can't understand, Derek."

He paused for a moment, and then shook his head as if in disgust at his own thinking."Baby Girl, this is ridiculous."

"Name one thing," she challenged, crossing her arms over her chest. She narrowed her eyes. "Name it, Morgan."

He looked at her and said clearly, "Sex."


	8. Chapter 8

AN: Surprise! Here comes another chapter, a day early for my peeps (Since you all have been so good to me, even with my cliffhangers!)...As always, thank you for the reviews...

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8<strong>

After he threw that out there against his better judgment, Derek watched as Penelope's face flushed bright red before she stammered her response.

"I...I...um...I didn't...I mean..." Her cheeks turned even redder—she always said it was the curse of her very fair Norwegian Grandma—and then she huffed. "You know I didn't mean that!"

He shrugged in nonchalance. "You asked."

She was looking at the other wall; bravely, she glanced back at him. "Yes, but that's ridiculous, D. I mean…" She looked away again, that scarlet color returning. "Oh, fudge!"

He had to stifle a laugh, although it was a pathetic one. Of course she couldn't imagine having sex with him. He was kinky, a true bad girl's bad boy, and for all her bravado and teasing, Penelope was a good girl. When he'd mentioned Lynch paddling her ass until it was cherry red, she'd looked mortified and obviously had not done even that. That was a sin and a shame in Derek's book; she had the perfect ass for a damned good spanking. Yes, she was dedicated to her highly vanilla, boring ass boyfriend and didn't aspire for much more. Why else would she have stayed with Lynch for the past four years?

Imagining having sex with her...well, that wasn't such a problem for him. In the seven years he'd known her, he'd imagined having sex with her every way a human male could have sex with a woman—over, under, behind, side angles, sitting, standing, lying, on the move—and then he'd invented a few other alien moves. Thinking about it caused his dick to stir, and it made him angry again, more at himself than at her.

Time to scare her off for good and stop this shit. Hell, he should stop flirting with her completely, end this endless flirtation and night after night of unrequited need. He was somewhat of a masochist—but not in this fashion.

No one deserved to be as whipped as he was for her.

"Not only sex," he said with a growl, even more harshly than he intended, "but sex my way."

"What way is that?" she asked, and he noticed a spark of interest in her eyes.

For a second, he thought about telling her—talking dirty with her was his specialty, after all—but he changed his mind immediately. Discussing this was going to lead to nothing but disaster. She didn't need to know anything more about his sex life.

Enough was enough. He was ending this.

"It doesn't matter," he said, shaking his head in disgust for himself, angry that he'd let it go that far.

"Tell me," she pleaded.

"Just…go home and stay out of my personal affairs."

She huffed at him. "Derek, you can't drop a bombshell like that and expect me to not want to know."

"Tough," he said, shrugging as he turned away. "Some things are meant to remain private…even between best friends."

"What?" she snapped, tugging his arm. "Are you afraid if I know, I'll be able to help you?"

"I don't want help," he hissed back at her. "I don't _need_ help."

"Yes, you do."

He glared at her. "There's nothing _wrong_ with me."

She scoffed in disbelief. "Someone who needs to be whipped until he cries definitely has something wrong with him."

His heart crumbled; he could feel it shattering in his chest. Somewhere deep down, deeper than he'd ever traversed, he must've carried a filament of faith and hope that she'd meant what she said—that she believed in him and wouldn't judge him. He was a damned fool: how much longer was he going to let her penetrate his defenses and hurt him?

"Derek, I'm sorry!" she said immediately. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry. I don't mean that. I just don't understand."

He knew she was reaching out, but he didn't give a damn. He didn't really want her to reach for him. He wanted her to leave him alone.

"You're not going to understand."

"I can, Derek, if you let me," she pleaded. "Please."

"Just go home," he snarled, frustrated and angry. "Go home and leave me be...before there's nothing left of our _friendship_."

He started walking away, leaving her to let herself out, when her voice stopped him.

"I'll do it!"

* * *

><p>Penelope thought for sure he was going to send her away and that this could very well be the end of what they had together. He was right to snarl the word <em>friendship<em> like he had done; what they had was so far beyond friendship. Her thoughts were jumbled in her head, and her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears. She was dying inside. She wanted to help him, she wanted to be there for him, and he wouldn't let her.

This was all wrong.

She didn't like secrets, didn't like that Derek had a part of his life she didn't know. She loved him, and she shared everything with him. Having this secret separated them, and they were so good together. She hadn't meant to insult him earlier; she was hurt and worried and angry, and she wasn't thinking straight.

Yet another part of her knew that wasn't all that was really bothering her so much. She was curious. She'd watched him in that room and had only wanted to help him. Despite what he thought, she hadn't a clue this was as involved as it was. As he'd spoken about the things he wanted, she'd felt strangely excited. He'd held her and told her dirty things, and a tickle of heat and desire had looped in her loins. Oh, yes, she was curious, all right—she had been for seven years.

This could be her one and only opportunity to know what it was like to be with him and help him in return. She knew she was throwing away her relationship: four years of safety, four years of complacency and comfort…and she couldn't stop the electric zing that ran through her body at the thought.

"What did you say?" he whispered in a deadly soft voice.

"You heard me," she replied, just as he had earlier to her same question. "I want to understand, and I want to be part of your life—every part."

He started walking toward her, like a tiger on the prowl. "You're willing to have sex with me, just so you can understand what I am thinking, why I need the chamber?"

The thick darkness of his voice, the glittering onyx of his eyes mesmerized her and made her heart pound in her chest. She could feel a frisson down her spine, low in her belly, spreading between her legs.

It wasn't fear... She'd never fear Derek.

"I want to understand. I need to know," she said softly, feeling her nipples peak under her dress. Never in her life had she wanted something so badly…and she didn't even know what _it_ was.

For a moment, he had a questioning look, like he was thinking seriously. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he said, "Do you know what I like? It isn't pain...it's control. I like control, Penelope. That means complete submission."

She nodded in understanding, but she felt doubt begin to cloud her mind. She was very independent. Could she submit completely?

"I'm not always gentle," he growled, stepping even closer to her, "but I wouldn't hurt you, either. I won't be delicate; I'll be harsh...if the situation calls for it."

"Okay," she answered, her voice breathy, weak, but her blood was singing throughout her body, a raging tide off excitement. She imagined his hands and his mouth on her body, taking what he needed, and her knees shook.

"You do realize this is just sex and release. This is about control and gratification," he stated bluntly. "This has nothing to do with love."

Out of all the shocking things he'd said to her this evening, strangely, that one hurt the most. She loved Derek, very much, and truly cared about him. She highly doubted she could keep her emotions out of it. With those words, he finally said something she was really afraid of.

She could feel doubt spreading like a dark cloud on a sunny day, and although she tried to answer smoothly, she hesitated. "I know."

He started to laugh, a bitter thing like she'd never heard from him before. He turned from her again, completely dismissing her. "I knew it. You'll never be able to do this. Go home."

As he took a step, she cried, "Derek, wait!"

He gave her a look over his shoulder. "Go home to Lynch and quit teasing us both."

"No!" she snapped, reaching for his arm and turning him to face her.

He stared at her, his lips a thin, irritated line, and something flickered in his eyes. She could tell he'd had enough; he was obviously at his breaking point. A second later, he practically lifted her off her feet and pressed her back against the nearest wall. He followed her with his body, sandwiching her between the unyielding surface of the wall and his equally unmovable chest. The scent of his cologne, along with the rich, distinctly male scent that was Derek comforted her, while his hot breath was scalding her neck, her ear.

"This is what you want from me, little girl?" he snapped, his deep voice a low threat as he pressed his knee between her legs to part them. He stepped closer, pressing his lower body into the cradle of her hips. "I like it hard, and I like it rough. It's not pretty and sweet, like what you're used to. This is dark and raw and fuckin' hot. Is this what you want?"

She shivered, answering honestly, "Yes."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

He'd only meant to scare her, treat her brusquely and force her to go running for the hills. She wasn't meant for him. She was sweet and innocent; she couldn't possibly understand. He'd let the full amount of anger and supreme frustration he felt rise to the surface and enacted it on her. He'd never intended on kissing her.

And then he saw the pure arousal written on her face.

It was just before she spoke that he met her gaze, looked her square in the eyes...and saw passion there. The woman was on fire for him, just like he was burning up for her. He felt her heat from between her legs against his prominent bulge, the press of her diamond hard nipples against the thin cotton of his shirt. Even her pupils were dilated, the surest sign of desire a woman could show. She couldn't control that reaction, and it made his blood race to know he'd caused it.

Her breath against his lips was coming in fast little pants, melding with his. She shuddered slightly, breathlessly awaiting his next move.

_Step back. Step back, and no one will get hurt,_ he ordered himself.

For an ex-military man, Derek had never been good at following orders—not even his own.

With a growl, he cupped the back of her neck in his hand and took her mouth with every ounce of pent up need that had been denied for far too long.

* * *

><p>Penelope's head spun the moment his mouth touched hers. It wasn't a pretty kiss or delicate, but that didn't seem to be what either of them wanted at the moment. Lips meshed, teeth scraped; she could tell that total domination was his ultimate goal. Her head tipped back slightly against the wall under the pressure of the kiss, and she yielded, giving him what he asked for.<p>

An incendiary heat rose in her belly, shot through her core and down her limbs. Reaching her hands up, she gripped his powerful shoulders with her hands, dug her fingers in to hold on for dear life as she began to spiral out of control.

She wanted him. Dear God, she wanted him. His heat seeped through her clothing, his scent clung to her, and he seemed huge, consuming. He was devastating, overtaking all of her senses until all she recognized was him.

She felt his fingers threading through her hair, felt as he tugged roughly, causing her to gasp. He darted his tongue between her lips, brushing against hers, before filling her mouth and causing more of those ripples of want. Oh, he tasted so good! Heated, spicy male...sweet and salty, like any good snack. She could become addicted to him, probably already _was_ addicted. One shot of any potent drug was enough, and nothing was more potent than Derek Morgan.

Never had she been kissed like this, where his mouth became her lifeline, her anchor to the world. She was spinning out of control, burning up with desire. Greedily, she latched her lips around his tongue and suckled, but as she reached for more, he gave less. The slippery heat retreated, and she moaned against the loss. She opened her mouth more, searched with her own tongue.

"Please…please," she begged against his lips, before he thrust his tongue in her mouth again, drowning out the sound.

At the same time, he lowered one of his hands to her chest, cupping her breast. He flicked his thumb over her erect nipple and then pinched it, causing her to gasp and squirm against him. She needed relief from this blaze, from this aching he was building inside of her.

Groaning, he lowered both of his hands and gripped her ass, lifting her off her feet. He held her aloft, grinding her closer to his body. She could feel his hardness, the stiff heat of his erection burning her as he rocked his pelvis rhythmically.

"Oh, God!" she cried, as he crashed his mouth over hers again.

He'd been right. It was rough, and it was so damn good.

"Is this what you want?" he rasped, lowering his mouth to her ear, thrusting his hips forward again in a movement that promised so much.

In the languid, kiss-drugged state she was in, she could barely focus. She didn't want to focus, didn't want to talk. She only wanted him to continue to kiss her and make it easy for her by taking all the decisions away from her.

She moved her chin, searching out his mouth again, and groaned in despair when she couldn't find it.

Derek kissed a path down her neck, nuzzling the skin before biting it—not rough enough to leave a mark, but enough to cause her to hiss in surprise. A second later, his seductive tongue lathed the spot, soothing any irritation.

"Answer me, angel: now or never."

What he'd just said caused her breath to catch and penetrated through the sensual fog she was in. The words he'd said were rough, but his tone had sounded like he always did: cajoling, her sweet as sin best friend. It was disarming, reminded her it was Derek that was turning her on. She couldn't deny the prickling, nearly painful desire she felt. She'd never felt desire like this. She had to face facts: somehow, he'd gone from best friend to her dream lover in minutes flat.

Nothing would ever be the same.

"C'mon, Baby. Answer," he whispered. Softly, almost with reverence, he kissed her lips gently...and sealed their fate.

It all made sense now, why she was so turned on by this. His domination...wasn't that really what he'd always done with her? There was a luscious familiarity to everything, even though it was so different. He took care of her, made decisions, and ultimately pleased her.

Derek had said he didn't want love, that he didn't need it, but she knew he was wrong. He was at war with himself, with his emotions. He said things about rough sex, but even in the middle of blinding lust, he had moments of delicacy, of veneration.

Derek had earned her trust. She was his baby girl—even before tonight, she'd known she belonged to him—and he was the one man she would surrender completely to.

Reaching both hands up to the smooth planes of his cheeks, she held his face and met his eyes.

"Yes."

* * *

><p>The moment the word spilled from her puffy, kiss-bruised lips, Derek wanted to pinch himself. It seemed too good to be true—it had to be—that the one unattainable woman he'd wanted for years would want to explore this side of his life.<p>

In fact, if he wasn't painfully aroused, he'd consider that he was imagining it.

There was still a thought rolling through him that she would change her mind, but God help him, not now. Not before he had more of a taste of her. When it came to Penelope, rarely did Derek put his own needs first. But right now—when it might be his only chance—that was exactly what he was doing.

He couldn't stop kissing her. He kissed her greedily, drinking from her. Sweet…so sweet, like he'd known she'd be. Yet there was something exotic, a tinge of unique spice that he couldn't get enough of.

"You said yes, Penelope," he growled against her lips. "I see no reason not to start your education right now." ...

**For More of this chapter, please see my profile!**


	10. Chapter 10

_AN: Thanks so much for the reviews, alerts, and favorites; you make my day... We're taking my daughter out for celebration of her conferences (She did good, my little Reid, jr. LOL), and I don't know when I will get back, so I thought I'd post a a touch early...Here's the next chapter, and a little more of what they're thinking..._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10<strong>

During dinner, she was both nervous and excited that they'd head upstairs afterward and he'd show her some new discoveries. She wasn't just learning about him…oh, no. She was learning about herself, too.

She was still rather lax and weak from the power of the orgasm that had hit her. Penelope usually had very intense orgasms—she was lucky; she was very sensitive and came rather easily—but this had been off the charts. Her entire body had vibrated and tingled, from the roots of her hair to her toes, and she'd shaken like a leaf on a tree. Her knees had buckled; he had to hold her up, or she would've melted into a pile at his feet. It wasn't just good…it was damn good.

Feeling her cheeks flush with heat again at her thoughts, she glanced up and found him looking at her.

"Want dessert?" he asked in a noncommittal voice, like he was inquiring about the weather.

Oh, baby…she wanted him for dessert.

"I got ice cream," he added, and a wash of disappointment rolled over her.

She shook her head. "No, thanks. I'm full."

"Well, then," he said, wiping his mouth with the cloth napkin he had. "I guess we're done." He stood, helped her out of her chair, and then looped an arm around her, like he always did. "I hear it's going to be a long week ahead of us. Hotch has two case files he's looking at, and they sounded pretty gruesome."

That was it? He was sending her home?

"Yes," she answered back, feeling confused as he lead her to the door. She gave him a curious look. "Aren't we going to…um…" She could feel the blush coming again, and she wished she wore darker makeup that would hide it.

He understood her question. "No."

"Oh." She couldn't hold back the disappointment she felt. Maybe he didn't want her like she wanted him? It wouldn't surprise her. After all, he—

Before she could finish her thoughts, he hauled her into his arms and gave her a singularly scorching kiss, one that curled her toes and made her pant and moan. When he finally lifted his head, he said, "We'll continue your education later...when we have time." He paused, cupping her face in his hands. "Much, much more time."

As she nodded, he drew his thumb along her bottom lip, and his eyes flared with heat. He swore unintelligibly, and then he dove down and kissed her again. This time, her knees buckled, and he was holding her up by the time he was done.

She opened her eyes and stared at him like he was an alien from another planet...a kissing planet that sapped strength from very lucky victims, like herself.

Rising to her own feet, she stepped away, straightened her dress, and said, "Goodnight, D." Not knowing what else to do, she gave him a curt nod.

Derek grinned at her and chuckled softly. "'Night, Baby Girl."

* * *

><p>The next day at work, he acted like nothing happened. "Morning, Baby Girl."<p>

Carrying her bag and her cup of coffee, she didn't think, and immediately, she began saying, "I'll show you a…" The words trailed off, and mortification hit her. "I...umm...Oh, man!"

"_Relax_, honey."

"I'm trying!"

Shaking his head, he looped his arm around her. "C'mon… We got a meeting."

That started a cycle of events. Penelope spent the rest of the day tripping up. In the meeting Hotch had called, she'd been unable to ignore Derek's long fingers as he'd held his tablet pc. As he'd turned pages, gently stroking the screen, the forbidden thought of how those fingers felt stroking her skin, her throat, her breasts, had crept into her mind. When he'd tapped his lips in thought, she'd had to shift in her seat to remain comfortable.

Derek, on the other hand, hadn't looked like he was fazed at all. It must've been an everyday kind of thing for him to lick her pussy and make her climax, she thought bitterly. However, it had changed things for her when he'd done that. In fact, he'd acted so normal, she'd started thinking it had never happened and had lost the embarrassment she'd felt. By the next day, she'd gone back to teasing per usual.

Penelope had been seriously thinking the rest of the week about not returning to Derek's again. She'd also contemplated running into his arms. She felt completely wishy washy, and she couldn't figure it out. Handing over total control to Derek sounded so damned good _and_ so damn scary.

He was wrong, too, to act like nothing happened. Dead wrong. All of this had certainly changed the way she looked at him. This was a game changer; they'd never really be able to go back to the way things were. As much as he tried to be normal, it didn't dilute that something big _had_ happened. She couldn't look at it as just a casual sexual act. If he could...he wasn't the man she thought he was.

Then Friday, he stopped in her office and said simply, "Tonight."

"Tonight?" she asked in confusion. "What—"

She stopped herself at the dark, smoldering look in his eyes that caused a sudden wash of excitement.

"O-Okay."

He didn't say another word; he simply smiled at her and then turned and left her lair.

_Oh, boy..._

* * *

><p>Derek looked at the clock and growled in frustration. He'd ruined it. She wasn't coming.<p>

After thinking over and over in his head the entire week about the offer he'd made to Penelope, a niggling worry entered his mind that he'd pushed too much, gone too fast. He'd backed off because of that, given her time to think and realize they could still be them…even if they had sex. They could maintain their friendship and walk away from this happier than they'd been before.

Somehow thinking it helped him believe it.

Maybe it was a crazy assumption on his behalf. He didn't want to throw away what they had—hell, no. She was his best friend. After originally being against this, he now wanted it with a passion he didn't know he had.

Their sexual play had been good—really, really good—something he would never forget as long as he lived. She was giving and so responsive, and he'd wanted nothing more than to please her. He'd wanted it so badly, he'd let his own doubts subside. He'd given her his all and had hoped that she'd want him as much as he wanted her…enough to let her fears be overridden by her desire.

Now, it was nearly ten pm on a Friday night, and he had to face the facts: he'd completely fucked things up with their friendship and how he felt.

He never should've given in to his passions and kissed her...touched her like he'd always wanted to. Penelope Garcia and Derek Morgan were not meant to be.

What was that old saying? _Good things came to those who waited_? Well, he'd waited forever for her—years, actually—and now he was waiting again.

Waiting for the impossible.

Growling low in his throat, he went into his kitchen, tossed some leftover spaghetti on a plate, and threw it in the microwave. He wasn't that hungry; he was too pissed off at himself to be hungry. He took a bottle of beer out of the fridge, opened it, and took a long pull.

God, he wanted her! It was a sick curse for him. He'd wanted her since the moment he'd laid eyes on her years ago, thinking she was _Gomez_. Back then, he'd thought she was just a passing fancy, a quick tease, someone to flirt with, maybe get lucky with, and that was all.

Some tease!

Over the years, he'd grown to want her more and more and more, with every breath of his body. She was like a poison where there was no antidote, an infection that had spread throughout his body—and there was no cure.

That searing, gnawing need he had for her had lain dormant, in remission, for years…and then he'd kissed her, tasted her sweet nectar, and awoken the sleeping dragon yet again.

Cursing, he put his bottle on the counter and belched. He was too old for this shit. He needed to remind his stupid body that she was off limits. It did no good to want her—she was totally wrong for him, and he knew it. Blushing, brave talking Garcia and her sweet, sensitive face that showed every emotion did not belong with a man like him.

That's why he'd never made a move, he told himself. She wasn't cut out for his scene. He tried to picture her in the chamber, kneeling before him, prepped, all docile and submissive, and he couldn't do it. She'd freak out. Besides, she did not want him in return. Not like that. Never like that. She was curious about his oddities, wanted to know about the chamber, but that was it.

His microwave beeped, but he didn't retrieve his food. He wasn't hungry. Picking up his bottle, he chugged the rest of it and then tossed it in his recycling bin. He'd be okay. He didn't need her like that. He needed her warmth, her compassion, her friendship, but that was all. He could get off with a number of women that wanted him. They may not taste like the sweetest slice of heaven and feel so right in his arms, but they'd work.

Somehow, that thought put him into even more of a funk.

He decided he was going to bed. It was barely ten, and he was going to crawl up into his bed and go to sleep, like a damned old man. He felt every one of his forty-one years right now.

He had reached the foot of his stairs and started climbing, when he heard a knock at his door. He turned quickly and headed toward his front door. He tried to keep down how eager he felt, but found it nearly impossible.

He opened the door and saw her standing there. She looked nervous, but behind those big, doe-like eyes was excitement.

"Hello," she said with a smile, and then drew her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Hi, sugar." Opening his door, he returned her smile and made a sweeping gesture, welcoming her in. "You, pretty lady, just made my night."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"Well, here I am," she remarked, raising her hands and then letting them drop in a nervous gesture. "What do we do?"

He pulled her into his arms, and gave her a sweet hug that made her skin tingle and her breath catch.

"I'm very glad you're here," he murmured, still holding her. "This is really quite simple."

"How?" she asked.

"Just follow my commands to the letter," he said, leaning back just slightly. "We'll have a lot of fun that way. No questions…just experience."

"No questions?"

He cupped her chin in his hand and held her gaze with his. "That's a question, sweetheart. Since we're just starting, I will forgive you for that one. Remember, I need you to be obedient...or I will have to punish you."

Punishment? Oh, Lord, she hadn't signed on for that! Just as the urge to run came over her, he began a slow stroke on her jaw with his long fingers, trailing lightly down her neck, mesmerizing her with his touch.

"Baby, I won't hurt you," he whispered, his tone almost throaty, breathy. "I would never hurt you or give you more than you can handle. If you feel you're overwhelmed, just say 'stop', sharp and true, and I'll do as you bid."

"Okay."

His voice was tender and gentle when he spoke again, reminding her a lot of her best friend. "I promise you this: although I am the Master, you hold control over me, too."

The idea of being under Derek's control—and being in control _of_ Derek—sent a thrill of desire through her core.

"I want to make this good for you. I won't make this easy, but nothing worthwhile ever is easy, is it?"

She couldn't really argue with that...could she?

He leaned forward to brush his lips against her temple. "Sweetheart, I want you succeed...I want you to understand..."

As he worked his caressing fingers behind her neck, she closed her eyes and let her head fall backward, feeling nearly boneless from his touch. What this man could make her feel...it was almost unfair the response she had from him.

Guiding her with those magic hands, he moved her delicately so that her body was pressed lightly against his in a full body lover's embrace.

He murmured huskily, almost vehemently, against her temple, his searing breath scorching her as she felt the brush of his lips with each word, "Let go, Baby Girl. Let go...let me..."

With a growl, he moved his mouth to hers and took it in a deep, dark, fully open kiss. There was no holding back, no holds barred. He was predatory, hungry, like he was famished for her taste. The sensations rolling through her weakened her knees, and she clung to him, wrapping her arms around his lean waist.

He thrust both of his hands into her hair, guiding her movements so that he could devour her again. The textures were overwhelming: the bristle of his goatee as it abraded her lips and chin, the velvety slickness of his tongue, the hot, humid breaths he drew against her mouth. She heard a moan, a low moan of true want and supreme hunger, before she realized it was herself that had made the sound...

* * *

><p>He needed this. More than he needed air to breathe, he needed this. She was his whole world right now.<p>

Something deep inside Derek whispered, _Hasn't she always been your world?_

Derek owned a four level, split-style home, with many nooks and crannies that added to his creature comforts. He had a room for more intense play, but that would be for another night. Tonight was her introduction; he was going to take it easy.

Calling an unwanted but necessary halt to their kisses, he raised his mouth from hers and said, "Come with me."

Showing her acquiescence, she reached for his proffered hand.

They walked slowly to his bedroom. The large, four post bed in the center caused a surge of desire to Derek's loins, thinking about all the fun they were going to have, but he shook it off.

"Okay, sweetheart. Let's see how well you can listen," he murmured, releasing her hand. He leaned against one of the posts and said, "Undress for me."

Those huge doe eyes met his again, and she hesitated for a second, but with shaky fingers, she undid the buttons on the front of her dress, letting it fall to a pool near her feet.

And that's when she took his breath away.

**For More of this chapter, please see my profile!**


	12. Chapter 12

AN: Thanks so much for the review, alerts, and favorites...I was so nervous to post this story, but I am so glad that I did... I really love this chapter... lol...

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 12<strong>

"Good morning, princess."

Penelope rolled over from her tummy to her back and opened her eyes at the entrance of Derek into his room. "Good morning," she said sleepily with a yawn, starting to sit up. She couldn't see a thing, so she stated searching for her glasses, at the same time holding the sheet to her chest. "What time is it?"

"Hold on; I'll get 'em." As Derek leaned closer to her, she could feel him slide her glasses onto her face. He took a seat on the edge of the bed and smiled warmly at her. "Better?"

She nodded, which earned her an arch of his brow and a faint look of displeasure. "What?"

"Sweetheart, I love when you talk to me," he said, his low, sexy voice causing shivers down her spine—she loved when he talked to her, too—and then he continued, "but in this lifestyle, it's more than just pleasurable—it's imperative."

Now she was frowning. "Why?"

He picked up her hand and started toying with her fingers, stroking each one. "Because of the risks involved, it's necessary to really communicate. We need to tell each other what feels good, what doesn't, what we want more of, and what turns us off…"

As he caressed her wrist, tracing delicate patterns on the inside with his fingertip, she knew she wanted more of that. The heat from his hand felt good, and her arms felt boneless, tingly.

"I can tell a little by your body language…how your breath is coming faster and your heart rate increases with my touch"—he pressed her pulse point on her wrist—"like now."

She could feel a blush coming over her cheeks. She needed to get a grip. All he was doing was touching her wrist, and she was ready to pounce on him!

He clamped her wrist in his grasp tightly, and her eyes flew open in shock. It didn't hurt, but it surprised her.

"But those reactions can also happen from fear…and I don't want to mistake anything," he murmured, and she realized her heart was pounding and she was panting. "Do you understand?"

She nodded and said, "Yes."

That earned her a warm smile and a kiss on the forehead. "Good girl."

She smiled at the praise, although that was kind of silly, too. She wasn't a little girl who needed stroking, but she couldn't help what she felt. She liked pleasing him; she was a people pleaser by nature.

He reached his hand up and tucked a curl of her hair behind her ear. "Have I told you how beautiful you look this morning?"

Ugh. She highly doubted that she looked beautiful. She probably looked a mess, if she looked like normal. She was sure she had morning breath, her makeup had to be smudged, and she'd straightened her hair yesterday, but sleeping on it usually made it a curly rat's nest.

Since Derek didn't have hair, she doubted that he had a flat iron available...

"Thank you, my prince," she answered anyway, "but you are as blind as you are handsome."

He was still toying with her hair, but then he released the tendril he had and slid his hand behind her neck. "I'm not the blind one here, sugar. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder...and I am doing the beholding here."

She caught her breath expectantly as he leaned down and brushed her lips with his. He tasted good, sweet like Derek always tasted, with a hint of java, like he'd had his morning coffee already.

A moment later, any worries about her looks and the sheet that had been between them was lost as he pulled her closer and caught her mouth in a serious kiss. She closed her eyes again as he crushed her naked body against his clothed one. Her still sensitive nipples felt tingly against the soft cotton of his t-shirt, and his hands felt warm against the small of her back.

He raised his head, smiled at her, and then stood, extending a hand to her. "Come. Have breakfast."

"Okay," she said, one hand reaching for his while the other reached for the sheet to remain semi-under wraps.

"Oh, no," he stated, knocking the sheet away. "I said I'm the beholder, and I still want to behold."

She could feel herself flushing from her cheeks to her neck. Yes, he'd seen her naked last night, with her nipped in corset, ready to take on the world, but this was different. Standing in broad daylight, naked in front of him, she knew he could see every mole, every spot she'd missed shaving, and the light pink and silvery stretch marks she had from growing pains. Out of habit, she turned sort of away from him, like she was trying to hide, and reached again for the sheet.

He shook his head at her, looking somewhat disappointingly at her. "Sweetheart, I told you how beautiful I thought you were and that I wanted to look at you. You blatantly disobeyed my wishes."

Her heart sped up a bit, and then she frowned. "Derek...come on. It's morning. We're not doing all that now, are we?"

He arched a brow at her. "Why are you here?"

Immediately, she thought of answering in so many different ways. She was his best friend; she'd been to his house numerous times and had spent the night before they had a great time doing something the next day together. However, she'd never been in his bed before, and she certainly hadn't made love to him… which was even sadder when she thought about it, because she'd been missing out!

However, she knew damn well she wasn't there as his friend, or his guest, or even someone that he truly cared about. She knew exactly why she was there.

Her conscience warned her, _Maybe__ you weren't missing out before after all?_

Before she over thought it to death, she looked up at him and said, "I'm here to learn."

* * *

><p>Derek was irritated. After last night, there should have been no more doubts in her mind. She should known how much he desired her. From the moment he walked into the room and saw her laying there, all tousled blonde curls and sexy, soft curves, he'd been hard enough to pound nails. She needed to be comfortable with herself—her naked self—and open up unabashedly to him if this was going to work.<p>

And he knew exactly how he was going to get her to do that.

"Correct," he replied, and felt his heart tug when she smiled at his praise. Shaking that feeling off, he continued, "You also know that reaching for the sheet was disobeying, was it not?"

Just as he knew it would, the light in her eyes extinguished, and she grumbled, "Yes."

He paused, glancing over her, from her colorful painted toenails and her shapely calves, her plump thighs and her curved hips, her luscious breasts and her full lips, and he felt the heat rise in his body. He swallowed, biting back the desire to toss her on the bed and show her a damned good morning.

He had work to do.

"Just looking at you makes me hungry," he said, and then stepped toward the bedroom door. "So, let's go have our breakfast."

She looked at him, wide eyed. "Naked?"

"Yes," he said. "Come on. I'm waiting."

As he watched, the blush that covered her cheek covered her whole body. "Derek, I can't...I..."

"Enough of that," he snapped, and then cupped her chin in his hand. "You are exquisite. You are my choice. I want this. I want to feed you like the goddess you are, naked and reclined, something sweet and spicy." He pictured this in his mind, and his voice grew even huskier. "And I want to spill on your creamy skin and clean you with my tongue...

Oh, how he wanted to spill on her... syrup, massage oil, lubricants, semen... he pictured all sorts of things in his head and took note of them for later.

He met her eyes, now passion darkened like he was sure his were, and said, "Don't keep me waiting."

Taking a step forward, she placed her hand in his as he led her down the stairs.

Once they reached the kitchen, Derek brought out the French toast sticks he'd made while she was sleeping and handed Penelope the orange juice from the carafe in his fridge. One of the benefits of being somewhat of a health nut meant that he had a juicer and freshly squeezed juice every morning. Also, being a bachelor for over twenty years meant that he could cook the basics…and a few gourmand treats.

As she carried the carafe to the table, he walked behind her and watched her hips gently swaying. The round, plump curves of her bottom jiggled just the slightest bit. He knew that Penelope had no idea what an awesome ass she had. He had plans for that ass—perfectly rounded, more than a handful, but not overly large; it was gorgeous. Everything about her was spectacular to him...inside and out.

"Where should I sit?" she asked, placing the juice on the table.

He knew immediately where he wanted her. Across the table in her chair seemed too far away, like miles to him, considering how he felt right now. He wanted to touch her.

After putting the French toast sticks with the fresh raspberry syrup and whipped cream on the table, he then sat down and patted his lap. "Here."

"On your _lap_?"

He shot her a cheeky grin. "It's for your benefit…I don't want you to get cold."

"You could let me put clothes on," she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest.

"What fun would that be?" he quipped back, unable to lose the grin from his face.

Sighing, she came close to him and went to sit down, but he reached for her.

"Oh, no," he said, holding her waist and turning her. "Face me."

After only a moment's hesitation this time, she straddled his legs and sat on his lap. The heat between her legs proved to him that he was doing the right thing; she was curious, even if she was slightly wary. The feel of her warmth, the sweet scent of her arousal, along with the sight of her turgid nipples, had him aching even more. He tugged her hips forward more so that her center brushed his erection.

"What now?" she whispered huskily.

Derek was no longer thinking about food—hell, no—but he had a lesson to teach, and he would do that first. He was, after all, very good at control, even controlling himself.

He picked up a toast, dipped it in the syrup, and then took a bite. "Delicious," he proclaimed, and then offered it to her. "Want some?"

Penelope opened her mouth and took a bite. Her eyes closed, and she smiled slightly, like it was heavenly. He knew how she felt; she was heavenly, delicious, and decadent.

He dipped another piece and offered it, his tone as husky as hers had been. "More?"

"Yes," she whispered, taking another proffered bite. Each time she'd come forward for a bite, her body would rock against his, brushing tantalizingly against him. She licked her lips at a bit of stray cream, meeting his eyes as she did so.

He found he craved touching her far more than he did the food. Reaching his hands to her bottom, he squeezed the soft globes and murmured, "Time to feed me, sweetheart…I'm hungry, too."

Completely acquiescent, she reached behind herself, grabbed a toast stick, and offered it to him with her fingers. He took the bite, holding her wrist, and then licked her fingers clean, one by one.

"More," he ordered, and she complied again, letting him hold her hand. He sucked her finger into his mouth that time, watching her eyes heat and turn midnight blue.

"Delicious," he declared honestly with his throaty voice. "You make it taste that much better."

She shivered in his lap, and her nipples were drawn even tighter. "Derek..."

"I think other areas will be even more delicious..."

Reaching for the plate, he scooped up two raspberries and some whipped cream and smeared the concoction over the tips of her breasts. The chilled cream had her nipples even more turgid than before. Soon her skin heated the cream, and it began to slide down her belly, towards her navel and below.

With one last smoldering look, he lowered his head, and soon any thought of food was completely forgotten…


	13. Chapter 13

AN: Thank you so much for the reviews...I totally owe my spouse for this chapter; he is beyond magnificent. Shawnee, I love you...

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 13<strong>

When Penelope woke up in the cushy, oh-so-comfortable, king-size bed at around one in the morning, she was rather disoriented. It positively amazed her and seemed incredible...practically beyond belief.

She'd spent the last twenty hours making love to Derek Morgan.

During and after breakfast, he'd painted her with berries and cream and then cleaned her with his tongue...her neck, her arms, her breasts, and her fingers. She'd painted him, too, but she hadn't had time to fully explore him; she'd barely gotten a taste of his luscious mocha skin before he'd reached a hand down, undid his jeans, and freed his erection. In the next heartbeat, he'd lifted her hips and thrust to the hilt while they'd remained seated at his dining room table. She'd ridden him, undulating as he rocked his hips upward, and she'd come and come and come.

And then when they had still been intimately connected, he'd stood, cleared the table with a sweep of his arm, and laid her down on the sticky table, where he had continued to fuck her, hard and fast.

Spent and sticky from both semen and syrup, Penelope had barely been able to move. Derek had carried her to the jacuzzi bathroom on the first floor, and then he'd washed her, cleaning every inch of her body—even her tender, intimate areas—with delicate care. Afterward, they hadn't bothered getting dressed; they'd made their way back to his bedroom and fallen into exhausted slumber.

Waking up hours later, they'd ordered a pizza. He'd worn sweatpants bottoms, and she'd worn his robe while they ate and talked and laughed. It had been the most normal thing for her, something they had always done together.

They'd watched a movie, too, in his bed...but that hadn't been so normal. Being in his bed had made her think of the night and the morning, and she couldn't focus on the film. She'd tried to watch, and they'd cuddled and kissed, but soon, the film had been forgotten, and they'd made love again. He seemed to have an endless supply of passion for her, and she for him.

Surreal. It was all surreal. Everything was the same, and it was different, too.

She'd arrived at his house on a Friday night, like she had so many times in the past. Usually, they played a game or something. This time, they'd played games, all right...Sexual games.

She rolled to her side and watched the gorgeous man permeating her thoughts. Derek was lying next to her, face down, sleeping. His long, bare back and tight, rounded butt were exposed. In the dim moonlight streaming in from the French doors in his room, she could see every contour of muscle, every smooth plane and perfect curve that made up his beautiful body. Amazingly, she found herself wanting him again. They'd made love numerous times. She should've been sated, but she wasn't. Her fingers itched to touch him, but he was solidly sleeping. She wasn't that insatiable. He needed his rest.

She should probably go. It was Sunday...she'd only intended on one lesson and then going home. She blushed at the memory of her own actions; she'd had so many orgasms, clawed and begged him to take her. God, she was shameless in her own need for satisfaction...and he'd loved it.

It was, by far, the best sexual experience of her life.

Still, the last morning was awkward for her, and this one would be, too. She should go. She was wanton, a woman playing a dangerously adult game at night, but in the light of day, she was still just Garcia.

Moving quickly, she reached for her glasses sitting on the bedside table and then stood and wandered into his bathroom to relieve herself. Her clothes became a priority; she searched for her corset and panties. She stumbled in the darkened room, causing Clooney, Derek's dog, to look up at her in question. She put her finger to her lips and motioned to the retriever to be quiet.

She bent over, slid her panties on, and then started hooking on her corset.

"I'd prefer if you didn't wear that."

Penelope gasped and turned to face Derek. She could see his outline and could tell that he was sitting up. "Ummm..."

He flicked on the light, which caused her to squint at the offending brightness. Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the new lighting.

"Leaving so soon?" he asked, arching a brow at her.

She swallowed guiltily. "Yes...I...um...I didn't plan on spending the night, much less two nights."

"That was poor foresight on your behalf," he said, sliding out of bed and standing.

Lord, his back view was impressive, but his front view...that was simply magnificent. Wide shoulders, tapered waist, sparse hair on his chest and abdomen drawing down to a fuller mat above his gorgeously thick cock...he was every woman's dirty dream come true. God, even his belly button was cute, a perfect divot in the hard plane of his sculpted tummy.

Meanwhile, she was standing there, flesh falling over and seeping under the tight corset she was trying to fasten. It was a humbling experience.

"Take that off, Penelope," he ordered, approaching her quickly.

"But I don't have—"

"Next weekend, you will pack a bag and you will be prepared to stay as long as I wish for you to stay," he interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. "Do you understand?" Before she could finish nodding, he said, "Now take that off."

A little thrill mixed with a feeling of annoyance at being commanded swirled in her tummy and her groin, which she thought was a very weird reaction to have. She reached her hands back to the front and began to unfasten the corset. "I thought you'd like this," she grumbled.

"I did like it...until I saw that it left marks on you," he answered, coming forward and tracing the line on her ribcage that was left from the tight corset. "I don't like seeing anything marring your beautiful flesh..."

He'd been idly tracing that mark with his hand, as if the feel of her skin fascinated him. He did that often with her, petted her, like he held her in reverence. He stroked her, up and down, like she was a small kitten that needed to be petted and loved. She wanted to be like that kitty, to arch her body into his caresses, but his words brought questions to her mind.

"What about what you did that day in the spa?" she asked innocently. "You had marks. Are you going to mark me like that?"

For a moment, she felt his hand tense on her waist, as if she'd struck him with something stronger than the flail the woman had held in the spa. However, the moment was short lived; he continued stroking her gently.

"Penelope...if I felt you needed that kind of action, or if you were the kind that would derive pleasure from that kind of pain, I wouldn't hesitate to take you to that level," he began to explain.

She met his eyes, and a thrill ran along her spine. Deep down, she knew Derek would never hurt her. She trusted him with all her heart, more than she trusted any other person alive. He'd brought her unspeakable pleasure both last night and the night before that. She would continue to trust in him.

He stopped stroking her and moved his hands up to cup her face. "But you are not, angel. You are nothing like the women I have known that enjoy that kind of play."

Her heart felt crushed in her chest, like there was something wrong with her. "But—"

"That is in no way a negative," he interrupted quickly, putting his fingers on her lips. "You are soft, sweet...and so fucking beautiful." He stroked her cheek and neck again in the same soothing movements he'd done before to her. "You lack a dark side, Baby Girl."

She frowned at him. "I sound boring. Marshmallow white. Vanilla."

"No," he said, cupping her chin and forcing her to meet his eyes. "You're perfect."

"What if you're wrong? I do like a good spanking, you know," she retorted, although that wasn't completely ture. She'd never had one, but she wouldn't be opposed to it. She'd heard it was fun.

He laughed. "Honey, you can't compare what I do in the spa or what I've done with other women to a mild birthday swat."

"Derek—"

"Stop worrying," he ordered, tugging her into his arms again. "My dark side is far more than the average person...so that makes us a damn good pair right now..."

As he began to kiss the side of her neck, she decided that arguing with him was futile...and that she didn't really want to argue, after all.

* * *

><p>It was around noon again when they'd finally stepped out of bed. She was wearing a pair of his sweatpants and his sweatshirt, which was a touch tight across her breasts. She didn't have her corset, so she felt kind of floppy, but at least she was warm.<p>

They'd talked and teased like usual while he hit the kitchen and scrounged up some food for them. She'd made sandwiches, and he'd found canned goods. He was a pretty good cook; he had functional food that was pretty tasty, especially when she was starving.

"D," she started. She was sitting on his couch, eating a plate of Spaghetti-O's that Derek had warmed up for them.

"Hmm?" he asked, taking a bite of his own pasta.

She hesitated in talking to him about anything that happened in the bedroom... bathroom...kitchen...dining room. However, once they reached his living room—the room she had always spent the most time at before they started this experiment—it seemed to her that they became "normal" again, like Morgan and Garcia, best friends and buddies, peas and carrots. She didn't want to disrupt any of that; she needed the break from the intensity of his bedroom.

Still, she knew she needed to clear her thoughts.

"I'm sorry I tried to sneak out this morning," she said.

He paused in his next bite. "That was bad of you." He took the bite and then continued, "Next time you do something like that, I'll have to punish you."

He promised that a lot, and she was starting to think he would never do it. "Sure you will."

"You don't think I'd do it?" he asked.

She blinked at him, not quite certain. "I think I am going to invoke my fifth amendment rights on the grounds of self-incrimination."

"Mark my words," he said as he arched a brow at her and gave her a serious look. "I may not whip you, but don't think I wouldn't hesitate in paddling your sweet white ass."

She gulped the bite she'd taken. "I'll be good."

He laughed at that. "You won't be...but you'll learn."

"That's what I don't understand, Hot Stuff." Huffing, she put her bowl down. "What does any of what we did yesterday—"

"And the night before," he added, rather unnecessarily as far as she was concerned.

"Yes," she growled, "and the night before have to do with what you did in the spa?"

It was his turn to stare at her. He watched her like he was looking for something in her look, in the way she thought, and then sighed. "I want to explain, but I don't think you'll understand yet."

"Try me," she argued, crossing her arms over her chest.

He shook his head and then put down his bowl of pasta. "Baby, it's all about control. That is what the BDSM lifestyle is. It isn't pain; it's controlling my physical reactions, concentrating on the physical."

She frowned, not quite understanding. "Instead of the emotional?"

"Yes." He continued, "For me, and a lot of Doms, physical reactions include sexual reactions. I am a born Dominant; I have a heady need for this, one that turns me on...makes me fly higher. It's almost a drug for me, an otherworldly release."

She could understand that. She could see that being a turn on, but she didn't understand that existentialism behind it.

"Some people find the need to be submissive," he murmured, continuing slowly. "Someone to take them in hand, take the reigns, make them forget about their troubles, so that all they can concentrate on is the physical."

Immediately, Penelope began to think of last night—and this morning—and how she could think of nothing else but him and his orders, his commands, and the pleasure he was giving her. It was so pleasurable, it was nearly overwhelming.

Was she someone who needed to be submissive?

While that thought originally warmed her, an equally strong wash of cold fell over her. She'd seen movies, read stories, of submissive women with Dominant "Masters" that whipped and beat them. She cringed at the thought of wearing a collar, of being asleep at Derek's feet, or being hung and harnessed.

On second thought, she was definitely not a submissive!

"People in this lifestyle meet that kind of need for each other." He looked at her. "Does that make sense?"

"Being Dominant..." She paused before asking, "Do you like women to call you Master?"

"If it fit the scenario I was in," he answered, "then I could...yes. It's a role we play, similar to your acting."

For some reason, she couldn't see that. There was a naughty, taboo thinking behind what he did, not with her acting.

"What about whipping women?"

He frowned slightly. "Some women want to be whipped, Penelope. They don't consider it a punishment...like I don't consider it a punishment, either."

"But..." She shook her head. He was right; she didn't understand this.

"Keep talking, sweetheart," he said softly.

When she looked at him again, she saw the look on his face. There was something there she hadn't seen before, an almost desperation...a longing. Was he longing for her to understand?

"What about collars, Derek?" she asked. She already knew he wouldn't do that. He wasn't—

"I don't see anything wrong with collars."

She shuddered, and her eyes were wide.

He chuckled. "You look disgusted, baby."

"I kind of...am," she admitted honestly. "It doesn't seem right to me."

Derek met her eyes and took her left hand, holding it up between them. "See this, sweetheart?" he asked, extending her ring finger. She had a small, silver ring on it, one that she'd purchased for herself in Nevada years ago. "That is a type of collar, Baby Girl. They're not all bad."

As he released her hand, she rubbed it softly and began twisting the ring. "I never thought of that."

He smiled softly at her and held up his own hand, showing her his ring, a college signet he'd had. "Men wear them, too...showing they are bound together. Maybe both partners in a marriage are submissive, hmmm?"

She smiled. "And both are somewhat Dominant?"

"In a way," he answered. "Every Dominant is dependent on their submissive. A Dom lives to protect and care for his sub. They can't experience joy unless their subs do, too."

Letting that thought sink into her head, she was filled with even more questions, and one that she couldn't understand. "But pain...why—"

"You'll learn that, angel," he said softly, "but not this weekend." He tugged her close to his side and kissed her forehead. "Definitely not today. You've learned enough for today."

"But I—"

"Shhh," he ordered, putting his hand over her mouth, but gently. "No more questions."

For the first time, Penelope thought about this relationship they were embarking on...and she didn't argue back. Instead, she took a deep, calming breath and leaned closer into his side.


	14. Chapter 14

AN: Thanks so much for the reviews... Goodness gravy, we got 299 right now! I am kind of wondering who will be lucky 300? *pleased and proud smile*... I hope you are still enjoying and are getting a feel for both P and D's thoughts...

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 14<strong>

Derek was more than pleased in how Penelope was settling into their affair. She truly seemed to be enjoying all of the lessons he was teaching her—perhaps as much as he was enjoying instructing her. Like an eager nymph, she had come to him the next weekend, packed and ready to play, with a big grin on her face and devilish merriment in her eyes. It was more than he had ever hoped for.

To tell the truth, it scared him a bit.

Being used to Dominance and what it meant for his partners, Derek wasn't quite prepared for the difference he felt when he commanded Penelope. He'd always wanted her, but she'd been forbidden fruit, something he knew deep down that he never should've touched. It was like touching an angel that had mistakenly fallen to Earth and found that she enjoyed the sins of mortal life. He couldn't help but feel that his touch was corrupting her.

"Hey, sweetness," he said as she walked through the doorway. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. It was something he'd done for years with her, but now he allowed the rush of blood to his groin and welcomed the throb his partially erect prick gave when she hugged and kissed him back.

"Should I put my bag in your room?" she asked when she pulled away, that mischievous grin returning to her pretty face.

He took it from her. "I can do that for you."

"Oh, thanks, angel fish," she answered, looking pleased.

That was another thing that made her different from the other women he'd been with; Penelope took pleasure in the smallest things that he did for her. It made him want to rip her clothes off and devour her, giving her pleasure after pleasure, until she screamed in ecstasy. Come to think of it, he wanted to lock her up and keep her restrained in his bedroom, his plaything, and share her with no one else.

Shit… He needed to get them out of there for the night, before he started imagining really impossible things... like forever.

"I'm thinking we should go out for dinner tonight," he said, pausing in his climb up the stairs.

"Okay," she answered agreeably. "Where?"

"You decide."

"Oooh!" she said with a happy sigh. "My decision? Really?"

He began to grin. He knew that would please her greatly. He was rather finicky about different foods. Being in the military and in the BAU, he'd eaten at his share of pretty stinky restaurants over the years; he had a discerning palate.

"Yes, baby."

Her eyes widened in fake awe. "Mr. Fussy Pants, who only likes certain things and certain places, is letting _me_ decide?" She grinned back and winked at him. "Goodness, I have you wrapped around my finger, don't I?"

He chuckled and began to climb again. "Don't get used to that..."

Her tinkling laughter followed him and made his body stir again to the point that he was uncomfortable. Damn. He needed to cool it; how would it be at the BAU if every time she laughed, he sported an erection?

Grumbling under his breath, he continued to the top of the stairs and deposited her bag in his room.

* * *

><p>Penelope chose a trendy Asian fusion restaurant that had a renowned sushi bar in the area of town frequented by college students. The interior of the restaurant was sparsely lighted with paper lanterns that glowed like they were lit by fireflies. Low, dark wood tables had cushioned seats that were near to the floor and a large bar that had lots of customers was in the distant corner. It was both cozy and happening—a strange mix that worked for the locale.<p>

A hostess helped Penelope to her seat and then directed Derek to his. "A server will be right with you."

"I love this place," she said, opening her menu. "Ooh! Edamame. Should we get a bowl of those to split?"

"Anything you want, sweetheart," he said, reaching for his own menu. He wasn't that fond of soybean pods, but with the excitement in her voice, he wouldn't deny her anything. "I'm game."

"_Konnichiwa_," the server said, stepping up to the table. The young man looked a little like your traditional surfer dude, with his blond, shaggy mane and perpetual tan. He was probably one of the students from the college working a part time gig. "I'm Ken. I'll be taking care of you tonight."

"Thanks, Ken," Penelope said, a big smile on her face. "Your accent sounds familiar; are you from California?"

Derek noticed that Ken looked immediately smitten; he smiled a bit too strongly at Penelope. His teeth were huge and white, like pieces of Chicklet® gum lined up in his mouth.

"Pasadena, born and raised," he answered with that insipid grin still there. "You, too?"

Penelope nodded. "I'm a San Francisco girl, myself."

Malibu Ken® remained smiling and said enthusiastically, "That's great! I love the Bay area; I've got a lot of relatives still there."

"Oh?" Penelope asked in her naturally inquisitive way. "Where about?"

"I'm from Chicago," Derek interjected, and then internally booted himself. He sounded desperate to get into the conversation with that, and damn, he did not want to be in that conversation.

Penelope smiled at Derek. "You have the best pizza in your town, Hot Stuff." She winked at him and then looked at Ken. "Can you bring us your fresh sushi list?"

"Of course I can," the waiter gushed.

"Thank you," Derek muttered.

"No, thank _you_," he said. "It's my pleasure to serve you both. What can I get you to drink?"

"How about a glass of plum wine?" she asked, returning the server's smile with a genuine grin of her own.

"Oh, be careful...that'll sneak up on you," he said with a wink.

"I'll have a Sapporo®," Derek said, ordering the Japanese beer.

"Be back in a flash," Ken commented, flashing Penelope yet another smile.

* * *

><p>Derek was going to kill Ken. He needed to go find some <em>Barbie®<em> and leave his Baby Girl alone.

When he'd returned to the table, Penelope had asked him the chef's special sushi order. He'd taken his sweet time, standing over her shoulder, pointing out each of the special rolls and describing them with a passion and verve that made Derek sick.

"Our Spicy California is so delicious," he'd gushed. "It originated there with Japanese immigrants. A uniquely American sushi."

"Naturally, the best would be from California," she teased.

"Oh, yes," Ken said with his eternal smile. Derek started to think it was painted on. "All good things come from California, don't they?"

The little fucker was cruising for a bruising. Inwardly, Derek was growling to himself. He was ready to dismember this kid...and then he watched Ken with other tables and noticed that he was smiling at lot there, too…and flirting.

Damn. Maybe it wasn't even flirting, really. The kid was sociable and kind, even to Derek himself, and had been nice even when Derek had been particularly rude. Derek was rarely rude, but Ken simply rubbed him the wrong way.

"D...are you okay?" Penelope asked, looking at him in concern. She looked so beautiful, her pink cheeks flushed from the heady plum wine, her dark eyes sparkling in the low lighting.

No, he wasn't okay. He was acting like a jealous ass, and he had no reason to be. She was there with him, she was just being friendly, and yet he couldn't control the primal feeling of wanting to hold her close and mark her as his.

That was stupid. She wasn't his. He knew he wasn't what she needed. He wasn't what anyone needed—especially not someone like her. His life wasn't something meant to be shared, not this part of it.

No matter how hard he'd tried to ignore it, the thoughts haunted him the rest of dinner. He could hear her voice, telling him he was a good man, a noir knight, and even her hero. He was nobody's hero. He couldn't be. He wanted to be hers...he just wanted _her_.

_Fuck_, how he wanted her!

Angrily, he slugged down the rest of his beer. He needed to get a grip. She was there to learn, to experiment. He would teach her, and when she learned, he'd let her go. This would be over soon, they'd part as friends, and everything would go back to normal.

Somehow, that didn't make him feel any better.

* * *

><p>After dinner—and two glasses of plum wine—Penelope was singing to herself when they made it back to his house. She was slightly under the influence, but still highly aware, and from the look of her pointy nipples sticking out of her shirt, highly aroused.<p>

"Upstairs to play?" she asked with a suggestive waggle of her fine brows.

Doing what he'd wanted to the entire night, he gave in to his baser desires and yanked her into his arms. He swallowed her gasp of surprise and plastered a searing kiss on her lips. He took her lips masterfully, commanding her total surrender. He tasted her, licked deeply in her mouth, tasting the sweetness of the wine that she'd drunk and her own delicious essence.

Would he ever get enough of her?

Shaking that thought, he fisted his hand in her hair and yanked backward, causing her to gasp in surprise, and allowing him to kiss her deeper, melding his tongue with hers. She sighed and brought her hands tentatively to his shoulders, melting into his commands. She fit so well in his arms...like she belonged there.

She wasn't his. Not permanently...but the devil on his shoulder commented softly...

_She's yours __tonight__._

He kissed his way down her neck, nipping none too gently at the soft flesh there, and then growled as he scooped her into his arms and carried her up the stairs to his room.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Derek was going insane. That was the only answer for this crazy, insatiable need he had for Penelope. Truly, he'd expected it to wane, the novelty of being with her after all these years the thing that was causing this gut reaction to devour her and keep her forever. Somehow, he knew he was lying to himself; that had nothing to do with it.

After that ridiculous waiter had flirted with her, he'd wanted nothing more than to cart her away, lock her up, and keep her as his and only his. He was becoming selfish to the core; he didn't want to share her with anyone.

That was really only fair... He needed her more than anyone else did.

So, he'd taken her upstairs and pleasured her until she was screaming his name. He'd made her look at him so she knew exactly who had made her pussy so wet, exactly who had made her come, exactly who had taken her outside of herself into another world. He'd needed desperately for her to know he was the one.

For Derek, she was his everything. He'd made her his, the way his heart had always wanted. In little more than two weekends of experimentation, she was no longer just his best friend; she was his lover, his one and only, and his true mate. She was his perfect match for this game.

She was his choice...his sub...and like all good subs, she was the one that truly held the reins.

When someone had told him "the bottom rules," he hadn't really understood that. He now saw it differently—absolutely in a different way—than he had ever recognized it before. He'd been playing before, testing his own boundaries and desires, and now…

He was learning as much as she was…maybe more.

For a moment, he imagined her with a beautiful necklace, a bracelet, or a ring—his collar that would say she belonged to him—and nothing else. He would wear a match to it; he surely belonged to her, too. He would even get it tattooed on his body so he could never remove it. She'd be so beautiful, a delicate golden band encircling her ring finger, maybe under a stunning diamond engagement band…

Derek blanched. What in the hell was he thinking? He really was nuttier than a fruitcake. They'd barely begun playing; they'd just dabbled beneath the surface. Sure, he'd been a little commanding and maybe a touch rough, but they hadn't done anything compared to what he normally liked.

A new picture, one of him asking her to whip him, rolled into his mind. She'd see him as the sick fuck he was then, and all of her idolization she'd had of him over the years would melt away. She'd look at him, and he'd see in her eyes reflected what he saw in himself—cold, unable to feel, and unworthy of her love.

Or worse…she'd pity him.

No, he couldn't take that. He couldn't take the risk. He needed to treat this exactly like he would any other Dominant/submissive relationship he'd been in. Enough with any thoughts or feelings; she wasn't here to make love, and neither was he. The emotion needed to come out of this. She was here to test her boundaries and learn, and he was there to get off. That's what they would do…

Starting tonight.

* * *

><p>"Hi, Hot Stuff," she said with a smile as she entered into his house. She held her bag in her hand. "Should I bring this upstairs?"<p>

"Not yet." His eyes were dark, mysterious, as he took her bag from her and placed it on the step. He then took her hand and began leading her down a hallway.

"Where are we going?" she asked. She thought they'd have dinner or something, and then maybe go up to his room.

Then again, he'd been giving her hot and heated looks all day at work, like he wanted to devour her...

Off the main floor hallway, they turned into a room she hadn't been in before. One of his guest bedrooms, she presumed. It looked rather normal, with a large bed in the center of the room with a wrought iron headboard and...

_Oh..._

The minute realization hit, Derek began to undress her. Layer by layer, her clothes were removed and strewn across the room. She didn't fight it; she wished he'd hurry it up. Longing for his touch, his kiss, she gripped at his shoulders, grasping fistfuls of his t-shirt he was wearing. She was ready—had been ready since about noon at work. She started thinking she would always be ready for him. All he had to do was look at her, and moisture began to pool.

Ready and waiting for their pleasure…that sounded so good to her.

**For More of this chapter, please see my profile!**


	16. Chapter 16

AN: Hey, you guys! Thanks so much for the reviews...I can't answer because they haven't showed up yet in my mailbox, but when they do, I will get to them... Strange FF...However, I didn't want to wait to update...

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 16<strong>

When Penelope woke up the next morning, she was so sated and happy. She was a little bit sore in certain surprising areas of her body, but it was a good sore. She bit back a giggle; she felt like the John Cougar Mellencamp song, _Hurts __So Good__…_

After dinner last night, she'd yawned in exhaustion. It had been a long week at work, and she'd found she didn't sleep as well in her own bed anymore. She did far better sleeping with Derek.

"_Sorry," she murmured behind her closed fist._

_Derek put__ the rest of his sandwich __down and__ wrapped her in his arms. "Come, sleepy baby. Time for bed."_

"_I'm not __so…"—she__ yawned __again—"…__tired."_

_He laughed __softly and__ kissed the top of her head. "I'm tired, too. You wear me out."_

"_You asked for it," she teased._

"_That I __did__." Before she could take a step, he scooped her up in his __arms and__ headed down the hall to the room again._

The last couple of weeks, she'd been so very happy. Derek was an excellent teacher. He made love to her, held her, kissed her goodnight, and then woke her in the middle of the night to take her yet again. Last night, after all the rough play they'd had earlier, he'd been so gentle, giving her delicious sex that had resulted in a soft, shimmering orgasm. She hadn't known sex could be that varied.

She was thinking this morning about all that he had taught her. Last night, he'd told her to ask for what she wanted, to be direct, and she would get what she desired.

_"I want to give you pleasure, Baby Girl," he said, moving back and forth in a perfect rhythm inside her. "That's what a Dom's life is __for...to__ give his sub pleasure."_

"_You do," she __said, before he__ kissed her with tender urgency. It was only slightly stunning to realize she was his sub. She felt so safe with him—submitting wasn't the scary thing she thought it would be. Instead of being afraid, she felt elated... loved._

"_You submit to me in here; you are mine," he growled in her ear, keeping his timing perfectly. "You humble me with that gift."_

_"Please," she whimpered, gripping at his shoulders, arching her hips. She was beyond listening, beyond caring. She only wanted this closeness, she only wanted him. "Please..."_

_"Look__ at me, baby," he __murmured against__ her lips. "Look at me and tell me what you want...tell me what I can give you."_

_She met __his gaze, all__ the love she felt for him shining in her eyes. "That would please me, Derek. Make me come."_

_He faltered for only a moment, and then he thrust inside her again and again, as the world exploded._

She sighed at the memory and looked over at Derek as he slept. More than anything, she wanted to return that favor, to give him pleasure like he always gave her. She knew how she would start, too.

She kissed his cheek, rough with morning stubble, and headed downstairs to his kitchen to bring him breakfast in bed.

Today would be all about him.

* * *

><p>Derek woke himself up with a soft snort, and reached out to bring Penelope closer to him. His eyes flew open as he realized she wasn't there. Frowning, he went to sit up and go in search of her.<p>

A second later, she came in the room. "Good morning, sleepyhead."

Derek's eyebrows rose in surprise. She was wearing his t-shirt from last night, and she was carrying a plate and a glass of orange juice. A moment later, his brows dropped in a frown. She was his guest; he should've made her breakfast.

He started putting his legs over the edge of the bed. "Baby Girl, I-"

"No, please!" she said quickly, interrupting him. "Get back in bed."

"Angel-"

"I couldn't find a tray, so I thought this would work," she said, stepping closer and showing him the plate of eggs, cheese, and toast. There were pats of butter on that made it look like smiley faces.

He shook his head and tucked his legs back into the bed. He reached for the plate. "Thank you."

He watched as she flushed sweetly with pink, and then put the orange juice on the end table. "My pleasure."

As he was about to take a bite of the toast, he watched as she took the t-shirt off and climbed in quickly next to him, laying in the spot next to him he preferred. She was learning, very quickly.

Far too quickly.

He watched her look around the room, inspecting the area. She looked like she wanted to ask a question, and soon her natural curiosity won out.

"Derek?"

"Hmm?" he answered in a noncommittal grunt, taking a big bite of the cheesy eggs.

"Why are we in this room tonight?"

She felt him chuckle. "I thought that was obvious…"

"No… I mean, why in here last night? What is this room?"

He didn't answer her right away. He'd taken her in this room to treat her like any other woman with a kinky sub fetish he'd ever had in this house. He'd taken her here to distance his thinking about her, to clear his head...and make it easier to leave her when the time came. Instead, he wasn't able to treat her like anything else than what she was to him...

His whole fucking world.

He must've waited too long to answer. Rising onto her elbow, she looked him in the eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," he answered, putting the nearly empty plate aside. He could feel the heat in his cheeks rising. Damn, was he _blushing_? He hadn't blushed since he was fifteen!

"Oh, something is definitely wrong," she teased, resting on her forearms on his chest. "Is your bedroom being fumigated for bedbugs? Do I have to worry about radioactive exposure?"

He chuckled, which sounded very much like a male sort of giggle. "No."

"Then what?" she asked, patiently.

He paused and took a deep breath. "This room is my den and my spare bedroom."

"And?"

That flush was back. "There are things I like to do and have in this room that I don't in my other room."

She bit her bottom lip but pressed on. "Like?"

He sighed and answered bluntly, "Like different restraints, whips that I like, some flails, assorted novelties, lubes, condoms…"

It was her turn to blush and feel somewhat uncomfortable. She blinked rapidly as she murmured, "Oh."

"Yeah_, __oh_." He laughed again, but it sounded rather bitter. "I'm a kinky SOB, Garcia. Get used to it."

Now it was time for her to get judgmental, and he could feel his inner walls going up.

She waved a hand in dismissal. "That doesn't really bother me."

"You were blushing."

"So were you!" she snapped back, and then blushed again. "It was because we just…ah… never even talked about condoms, did we?"

"Baby, I'm clean," he said quickly, reassuring her. He had a reputation that was pretty dirty even at work for his sexual prowess. "I've never had sex with anyone without condoms before. Never."

"I wasn't worried about that," she said just as quickly. "I know you would never put me in danger or harm's way."

She had such a trusting look, so sweet and understanding, it made him stiffen under her for just a second. She shouldn't trust him.

He continued, trying to scare her away, "Anyway…when I bring someone to my house, this is where we... _come to play_. Everything is in here for that."

"Why not just have it up in your bedroom?" she asked.

He sighed, thinking hard…trying to come up with an answer. Truth be told, he didn't really have an answer. He didn't like bringing one night stands up to his bed. He'd never done that. In fact, despite his bravado, he'd rarely brought a woman here period. It was complicated and messy. In fact, the only woman he regularly brought home was... her.

"I don't know," he said flippantly a moment later. "I like my privacy, I guess."

"But I was up there," she said quietly. "In your room…"

_That's because you belong there..._

Derek blanched at his thoughts and stiffened by her side again. "That's different."

"You brought me here this time, D...to this room," she continued, ignoring his interjection. "Why?"

"Toys," he spat, feeling his heart contract and his stomach churn. He couldn't tell her his reasoning, that he was trying to escape and was failing miserably. He couldn't.

He swallowed hard and growled, "I brought you here to play with my toys."

He had a feeling she knew that wasn't just it, but she didn't push anymore. "Okay."

He slid his arm out from under her and moved to the edge of the bed, sitting up. "I'm filthy. Let's take a shower."

She nodded, and moved to follow him.

* * *

><p>After the shower, things fell more in place. He carefully washed her, and then took her against his shower wall, thrusting even after the water grew cold. Afterward, they dressed and went out for lunch, and then returned later, to play games, and then sit on the couch, watching a basketball game on the TV.<p>

"I thought you weren't a big basketball fan," she said, leaning into his side.

He grinned at her. "I am when I have money riding against Reid and Rossi and their bracket picks."

She didn't know what that was, and frankly, she didn't really care. She was doing what he wanted to do today.

His arm was around her back, his eyes partially closed, and she was on his shoulder, where she usually liked to sit. With the hand behind her, he wrapped a fat curl from her hair around his finger and then released it slowly.

He was always touching her: stroking her skin, playing with her hair, even picking up her foot to loop her ankle over his. Some form of contact. It was automatic for him and for her; she wondered if he realized he did that, too.

His inner romantic was showing again...

Penelope's heart sang in her chest yet again. It was probably more wise to protect herself than to give in to this joyous feeling in his arms, but she couldn't help it. She knew more than anything how in love she was.

She turned and kissed his fingers lovingly as they went to reach for her curl again.

He paused and then removed his arm from around her shoulders. She was about to protest the loss of warmth, when a second later, he brought his fingertips up to her mouth.

"Easier access," he murmured, his dark eyes watching her lips intently.

"Mmm, thank you." Penelope held his wrist and then slowly licked his finger with a flick of her tongue. She saw a flare of something in those chocolatey depths, so she licked again and then drew his finger into her mouth to suckle.

A moment later, Derek clicked off the television and stood, helping her to her feet, too.

"Are we going back to your _den of iniquity_?" she teased.

"Not tonight," he answered, scooping her into his arms and carrying her up the stairs to his bedroom.


	17. Chapter 17

AN: Thank you so much for the reviews. I know there are some questions out there; I am hoping all of them will be wrapped up sufficiently by the end of the story...

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 17<strong>

...And then something else happened that sealed the deal. Something that scared Derek and knocked him completely off his foundation. Something that shook him to his very soul. While making love to her, he felt two tears gather behind his tightly squeezed eyelids, and then more and more.

He felt... He felt...

Release

**For More of this chapter, please see my profile!**


	18. Chapter 18

_AN: Thanks so much for the reviews—your reviews inspire me and make me write, write, write... Now here comes the next chapter..._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 18<strong>

It was nearly six hours later, and Derek was still awake. Although he'd been physically exhausted from making love—and yes, it had been making love; even he couldn't deny what was so obviously there between them—his mind was in utter turmoil. He'd stayed awake and contemplated what he was going to do.

Having made sure to dry his tears first, he'd moved to his back after they'd both reached completion and had attempted to put some distance between him and the woman who'd knocked the breath out of his body. He'd been so overwhelmed with his emotions, he'd wanted to get up and run for mile and miles.

Penelope had seemed to be oblivious to it all and had not allowed him even that simple freedom. She had moved closer to him, to that spot that called her name on his chest right over his heart. She'd leaned up to kiss his cheek and then sighed contentedly. "I'm so sleepy. Can we sleep for a while?"

"Yes."

Immediately after he said that, she'd cuddled in and fallen asleep. Like a true submissive—asking his permission and then showing ultimate trust.

He didn't want that for her. She deserved better than this.

Better than him.

He had remained in that position on his back, rocked with thoughts and regrets. He'd thought about himself and what had just happened. Somehow, in less than three full weekends, everything had changed. He'd fallen irrevocably in love. He wanted her, body and soul, mind and spirit. He wanted to possess her, keep her, own her, mark her as his and only his. He wanted her more than he wanted to breathe. She'd always held a place in his heart, but now... He was almost desperate in his desire for her.

One thing hadn't changed—he'd been a selfish bastard when he'd started this and was a selfish bastard now. He'd gone into this at first wanting to scare her away from his personal sex life. He hadn't thought it was good for her then, and he still didn't think it was good for her. If years of pent up lust and wanting hadn't beaten his resolve to a bloody pulp, he would've found some way to resist. Instead, he'd given in like the weak coward he was because he had wanted her so badly...he'd always wanted her.

She deserved so much better. More than he would ever be. He was a sick fuck who liked kinky sex games and being whipped. One look at Penelope and everyone knew—she was a nice girl.

Derek didn't do nice.

The worst part for him was that he knew deep down that she loved him. She had a beautiful, compassionate soul that was willing to do anything to help a friend in need, even subject herself to torture—or having sex with him. He knew he was good in bed—he never had a problem finding partners, and he was the one that called it off with most women, not the other way around. Given ample time, he could convince her to stay, make her orgasms so strong, she was almost as addicted as he was to her, and make her believe that she'd made the right decision in staying with him.

He knew that wasn't what he wanted for her.

Penelope deserved a man that came to her with loving gentleness and a kindness of spirit that mimicked hers. She deserved a man that was whole and strong, but caring. She deserved someone sensitive and devoted to her, someone who would worship her as she deserved to be worshiped. She needed someone who would make her feel safe in all place—including the bedroom—and treat her with the utmost respect. He'd be someone who would do what she said to please her, but not be an utter wimp that would bore her. Basically, she deserved someone as perfect as she was.

Derek was going to hate that motherfucker.

What she didn't need was someone with a lack of faith who always fighting his personal demons. She didn't need someone who had a decisive lack of faith in humanity and even less faith in God more than half of the time. She didn't need someone who had little hope for a future.

And she didn't need a man with a twisted perversity in the bedroom that made her blush with mortification at what he'd done to her when she thought about it the next morning. She couldn't deny it; he'd seen the pinkness in her cheeks that betrayed her calm demeanor. He was always, _always_ watching her.

What she needed from him was one thing, and one thing only, something he never should've strayed from in the first place. She needed his protection from monsters—including himself. He should've done the right thing from minute one...and been only her friend. Now, he didn't know if getting that back would even be possible. Could he face her and be her friend, knowing how sweet she tasted? Could he hold her in his arms and comfort her, knowing how she'd responded to his touch?

He would have to. He didn't need to add coward to his long growing list of sins.

Pushing his guilt aside, he finally rose from the bed and started to put his plan to distance them into action.

* * *

><p>Penelope sighed sleepily, stretching her arm out to the other side of the soft bed and finding it empty. Pushing her hair out of the way, she sat up and reached for her glasses. After she put them on, she noticed her bag in his spot with a note taped to it.<p>

_Garcia—_

_I'm working out at the gym. Don't come there. Let yourself out. See you Monday._

_M _

By the time she'd finished reading, she was frowning considerably. She couldn't figure out what had gone wrong. They'd made love last night, and it had been exquisitely beautiful. She'd been so satisfied and happy, and she'd followed his commands clearly. She'd done everything right.

At least, she thought she had.

She read the note again. It didn't sound like anything positive. There were no lover-like words, nothing that hinted at anything he thought. He even called her Garcia, and that rarely boded well. Something was definitely wrong.

The last two weekends, they'd been together almost constantly. This weekend, she'd expected the same thing. It was Saturday; they'd spend Sunday together in each other's arms. Had she been wrong in assuming that? Did he need some sort of space? Quickly and angrily, she wiped away tears that sprung to her eyes. If this was some sort of submissive lifestyle test, she was failing miserably, because she didn't understand this at all.

Was he dismissing her? Just when she'd started to understand this and truly understand him, he was _dismissing_ her?

Deep down, she knew that was what was happening. All signs pointed to dismissal. She hated this, hated the worry, the horrible feeling that she had somehow failed.

Penelope reached for her bag and opened it. It had been packed with all of her stuff, including the things she'd left in his bathroom for the past two weekends. She'd been so happy; the moment she'd said yes in his foyer, yes to his "tutoring", she'd known it was the right decision. She'd left Kevin that night, and never looked back. It felt right being with Derek, like she'd been waiting for him to claim her. From minute one, it had felt sinfully hot, but deliciously right.

Hadn't he felt the same way?

Worriedly, she began to dress, her heart beating erratically in her chest. In a decidedly non-submissive fashion, she knew she was going to confront him. She couldn't just roll over and play dead; she needed answers, and only one person could give them to her.

* * *

><p>She saw him in the back of the FBI training gym, boxing a large standing bag. Even from a distance, she could see that he was hitting that bag with extra force, like he was trying to drain the stuffing from it. For a vicious second, she wished the inanimate object would hit him back for causing her pain, but she shoved that thought aside.<p>

As she walked closer, she could hear his grunts of frustration and the sound of his fists hitting the leather bag. He was wearing a black tank top that was drenched in sweat and light gray sweatpants that were charcoal at the waist from dampness.

She stood behind him and said, "Der—"

"You shouldn't be here," he snapped before she could get the word out.

Blinking in surprise, she asked, "How did you know I was there?"

He didn't face her; instead, he continued to pound that poor, abused bag. "Because I am always aware of you," he ground out in frustration.

Her heart swelled, but then crushed in her chest with his next words.

He stopped punching, tensed for a moment, and then rested his head against the bag. "It's become a distraction."

"I'm sorry," she said. It sounded wrong to her, but she said it anyway. She didn't know what else to say.

He raised his head and looked at her with a calm, steady gaze. She recognized the look; it was the same one he gave her that demanded her attention.

"I am going to ask you a question, and I want you to answer me honestly," he said, holding her eyes.

"Yes, Derek," she replied quickly. He had her under his thumb with that look; she had a feeling he knew it.

"Do you understand why I was at the spa?" he asked, still looking directly at her.

She knew the answer. She looked into his eyes and answered honestly. "For control. For release...for a pain that can give you incredible pleasure."

He smiled at her, but it didn't meet his eyes. "I thought you'd get that right. Congratulations. You passed."

Without another word, he turned back to the bag and began punching it.

Frowning, she stared at him in confusion. "What—"

"You're free to go, Penelope."

Penelope bit back the bile rising in her throat and swallowed hard. She couldn't hold back the hurt in her chest as easily as the bile. "You…you're dismissing me?"

"No," he said, still looking away from her. "You came to my house to learn about me and to protect me in your own way. Now you know that I'm fine, and you understand everything. We made a deal, and it's been fulfilled."

She wiped at the tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes and cursed herself for crying. She swallowed again and guttered out, "Yes, I know that, but—"

"What were you expecting, P?" he asked, turning to face her. "Did you think we'd continue this?"

"Yes," she whispered. She bit her lip and answered truthfully, "I'd hoped that we would."

Derek's expression changed. He looked pained, like someone had punched him inside his chest. He rubbed his hand over his face. "Penelope...I don't want to hurt you, but you're not meant for this lifestyle—"

"What if I am?" she asked, interrupting him. "I've been happy, Derek. I like this…I like being your sub."

"You like good sex, Penelope," he said quickly. "We had really good sex, but _you're not meant for this_. You don't like following orders, you ask too many questions… No. Truthfully? You are a lousy fucking sub."

That stung. She tried hard to keep the hurt out of her eyes, and had a feeling she failed miserably.

He shook his head. "Hell, Penelope... you even came here when I told you not to."

"I disagree," she said.

He laughed. It was a mocking sound that hurt her ears and pissed her off. "Arguing... very sub-like, indeed…"

She put her hands on her hips. "I'm a sub, not a doormat!"

For a moment, he nearly smiled, but then he shook his head. "Don't kid yourself. You're no one's submissive."

Penelope fought the urge to glare and huff at him. Instead, she said softly, "I think I proved that I would do anything you asked of me."

"Anything?" he snapped, staring at her.

"Yes."

His eyes were brutally cold when he asked, "Would you whip me if I asked you to? Until I bled and cried?"

Penelope flinched and paled, knowing deep down that was one thing that she couldn't…

God, she couldn't.

She loved him so much; she couldn't cause him that much pain—even if he wanted it. It would kill her inside. Seeing that once...that had been too much for one lifetime.

She hung her chin in defeat, and tears coursed down her cheeks.

She felt Derek's hands cup her face, his rough thumbs brushing away the tears.

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm so, so sorry that this hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you. I'm not right for you. You'll see this is for the best."

"You're wrong. I love you, Derek," she whispered, her chin quivering and her heart aching. "I could make you happy."

Derek lowered his hands and stepped away from her. "Go back somewhere safe, P. Go back to your Lynch or some other guy who can make you happy. I'm not it."

She shook her head sadly at him. "We could make each other happy, Derek. I think you'd see that, if you'd just give me a chance."

She didn't wait for him to respond. She turned and ran out of the gym, her tears blinding her.


	19. Chapter 19

AN: Thanks so much for the reviews... Without further ado, here's the next chapter!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 19<strong>

Penelope was steaming mad. It had taken her a long time to get to that point, but she was there now, and oh, boy...not much was going to change her thinking.

For all of Saturday and Sunday, she'd cried. So much so, she'd called in sick to work on Monday. That wasn't something she'd normally ever do. She'd lacked the courage to face him again and not throw herself at his feet and beg him to take her back. She didn't want to face him feeling pathetically discarded, like someone who wasn't wanted.

She'd gotten lucky, too—the team had a case out of state, so she didn't have to see or talk to him. Others had wondered what had happened, but she'd kept a stiff upper lip, and apparently, Morgan had, too.

Around midweek, Penelope had commenced to do something that she did very well—she truly relived and thought about everything that had happened. Each word he'd said, each facial expression he'd had. She would've given her right arm to have Reid's eidetic memory most days, but that scene in the gym—as well as most other times she'd had with Morgan during these past couple of weeks—were burned indelibly in her mind.

Somehow, by Thursday, Penelope had started doing something she wasn't the best at—believing in what her heart was telling her. She knew exactly what Derek was doing. It had only been emphasized by the look on his face when she'd seen him when the team returned that day. He'd tried to hide the longing in his eyes, but when it matched so well with what she was feeling inside, she could see it. She'd always been in tune to Derek but was even more so since her "training."

Her gut told her this: She hadn't been discarded at all. Judging Derek's expressions when he'd exited the elevator proved it. She was wanted more than ever. More than anything. There was no doubt in his look that he loved her, but for some reason, he felt he needed to save her. In true Derek style, he had taken it on himself to protect her at all costs, including that cost to himself.

_You're not meant for this lifestyle...I never wanted to hurt you...This is for the best...Go back somewhere safe._

The man was an idiot. That was what had her so angry this Friday afternoon. She wanted to growl, to scream and yell at him that she wasn't fragile and she was no angel. She was far stronger than he gave her credit for. She also truly thought she was meant for this lifestyle. She was meant for anything...so long as it involved him.

Last night, she had begun researching Dominant/submissive lifestyles on her computer, and as she read, she saw that it was truly an extension of Derek's behavior that he'd always had. He was an Alpha male; it was in his nature to be protective, controlling, and aggressive when needed. This wasn't that much different from her usual life with him. He'd do anything for her to make her happy, and vice versa.

They were a natural D/s team.

She read about things that some D/s couples did. Derek wasn't into humiliation or inflicting physical pain beyond a few well-timed spanks and withholding her pleasure. He wasn't hard core. He liked her to say what she wanted and to obey when he asked her to do something that was in her best interests. She'd never regretted doing anything Derek asked of her...except walking away in the gym.

She thought about the whipping question and how he'd used that to frighten her away. It was obvious now that he was using scare tactics, trying to get her to run away from big, bad Derek. She didn't think he wanted her to do that to him at all. A Dom would want her to experience pleasure, and inflicting pain for her would not be pleasurable. Derek was first and foremost a Dom.

She thought about what he'd said, too: _Every Dominant is dependent on their submissive. We can't experience joy unless you do, too._

Derek would never truly hurt her. He seemed afraid that he would, that immersing herself in the Dominant/submissive lifestyle would cause her pain or distress. She wasn't afraid of that. Not with him there. She had that ultimate trust in him...he needed to have it in her.

They needed each other, completed each other. She was his, and he was hers. They'd always had a bond far deeper than many people understood. They were soul mates, the other half of each other. She needed to convince him—the stubborn idiot!—to believe in her, and in her love, once and for all.

She knew he worked out aggression and anger at The Palace, gaining that sense of control he felt he lost sometimes. He could get that with her, his control, by guiding and leading her, and she would relish his protection. She would prove it to him if she had to.

Even a submissive had to know when to fight.

Clicking over to her computer, she hacked into the system she'd been looking for and pulled up a screen full of appointments. A moment later, she pressed the button that would connect her to her destination.

* * *

><p>Derek was miserable. He'd thought all day and all night about Penelope, every waking and sleeping moment. He couldn't get her out of his mind. He knew he was obsessed with her, but he hadn't known how badly until now.<p>

The stress was building up until he felt that he would nearly burst. He was on edge, grumpy to everyone who approached him at work and at home.

His mother had called, and she'd wondered what had happened to him, too.

"_Son, are you okay? You don't sound okay. Are you sick?"_

"_Momma, I'm fine," he growled testily. "I gotta go back to work."_

"_Oh, good," his mother answered in reply. "I'm glad for that. Maybe your baby girl can shake you out of that funk you're in. She's always been balm for your soul, sweetheart."_

Groaning, he put his hands on his face and slumped back in his chair. Even his own mother knew how vital Penelope was to him.

He missed her. He missed her so much, he physically ached with it. He missed her smile, her laugh, her presence. He missed her jokes and her spicy, teasing demeanor. He missed her friendship and her love. That was normal for him; he'd always missed her that way when he'd been away after catching a case. But now...

He missed how beautiful she was first thing in the morning, her sleepy eyes glowing with satisfaction. He missed how she smelled like vanilla and pear, even after making love multiple times. He missed her touch, soft at times and rough at others. He missed how her body clung to his, a perfect fit, as she pulsed and writhed underneath him. He missed the sounds of her cries of ecstasy.

He missed _her._

Derek growled low in his throat. He needed to schedule an appointment to see The Palace. He had to find an outlet for this frustration.

As Derek thought about it, he realized The Palace held no appeal for him. He'd gone there in the past to let them physically tear down the barriers he'd built around his heart, until he couldn't defy the release he needed so badly. He'd gone there for escape from the self-derision in his brain, the years of hatred he couldn't let go of. He'd gone there to forget.

Now he questioned if it would work anymore. This pain felt so much different. He didn't want to forget her.

He didn't feel like the same man anymore.

Closing his eyes, he thought about his favorite subject—Penelope. He thought about how she'd accepted him the way he was, how she'd met every challenge he'd thrown at her, how she'd been understanding and willing. He thought about her tender sweetness, cuddling with him after they'd had their play. It seemed so much more like play with her. So much more lighthearted and sexy, instead of fulfilling a darker need.

He thought about how he'd loved teaching her, loved watching her eager and happy responses, and how she was gleeful when she'd responded correctly. He adored pleasuring her, bringing her to multiple, earth-shattering climaxes that made her giggle, laugh, and cry in the surprise of them. He loved bonding with her; she'd become his submissive, his world.

His conscience spoke to him: _I__s that any different than what you'd felt before? __Better yet, what you've always felt for her?_

Derek's eyes flew open as realization hit, and his heart leaped into his throat, nearly choking him. Holy fuck... She'd been his closet sub.

For as long as he could remember, he'd needed to protect her, care for her. He'd die to make her happy. He loved to hold her, support her, nurture her, like she loved to nurture him. There was no doubt, she was his sub—she'd always been his sub—and he was her Dom. Even when she was with Lynch, she'd come to him for support, protection and comfort.

No wonder she fit so beautifully in the role.

It was deeper than that, deeper for both of them. There was a love between them that was powerful and a friendship and caring that was so strong, it made others uncomfortable at times. He'd thought she wouldn't understand this part of his life, but she'd understood all along... probably better than he did.

Ultimate trust. Giving pleasure and receiving pleasure on equal levels. Wanting to please beyond yourself... She may not have the lingo down or understand all the components, but she was his sub, his perfect match...and he'd gone and thrown her aside over his own stupidity.

Damn, he was a moron!

He didn't think that she would ever be able to whip him—she was gentle in nature—but he didn't think he needed that anymore. He'd gone there to release the pain he'd felt inside, the emotional pain, and replace it with physical instead...to allow him to achieve that release. Now, he'd found release in another way, one that was far more gratifying and long lasting.

He'd found _her_.

His phone chimed, signaling he had a text from Penelope. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone.

_7:45 The Palace. Be there...if it pleases you._

Looking at his phone, Derek smiled. She wasn't the most reserved sub around, that was for sure! She'd always have to fight wanting to _control_ and _fix _things, and he'd always have to move past self-doubts and his past, but she was his, and that's all that mattered to him. He didn't deserve her, but she was his. He would spend the rest of his life earning that trust and love that she had and thanking God for his luck.

Glancing at his clock, he rose from his desk, grabbed his keys, and began the drive to the spa.


	20. Chapter 20

AN: Thank you so much for your reviews and your support!... I'm posting this now, because I am not sure if I will get on tomorrow or Thursday...and because I needed to write... I hope you all love this as much as I do...

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 20<strong>

When Derek arrived at the Palace, it was exactly 7:40. He walked to the front desk and noticed the same tiny, redheaded receptionist who had been there a few weeks ago. It was still quiet, with new age spa music lightly playing in the background. There were the same fichus trees in the corners. However, aesthetics were about all that was the same. Inside, Derek felt like a whole new man. He was smiling, and he felt far better than he had any other time he'd arrived.

The difference? This time, he had hope.

The lovely young woman glanced up at him and smiled vapidly. "Hello...Mr. Morgan, correct?"

"Yes."

Looking pleased with herself that she had remembered his name, she glanced down and smiled. "Ah, yes. Please take a seat in the left lobby. Someone will be with you shortly."

Murmuring his thanks, he took his seat and felt nerves starting to sink in. He hoped to God Penelope hadn't changed her mind, and he hadn't scared her off and made her run the other way. He—

Derek immediately shook that thinking off. He had faith in her that she'd be here. He smiled to himself. Having mutual respect and trust in each other...that was a key component in any relationship, as well as this lifestyle. No woman on this Earth was more deserved of his trust than Penelope Garcia.

Another key component was knowing what a partner most greatly desired, so one could fulfill those wishes. Derek couldn't keep the smile from returning to his face; that was going to be easy for Penelope—she was what he most greatly desired.

"Derek," another woman addressed him, interrupting his pleasant thoughts. She was the same employee who had led him to the chamber weeks ago. He hadn't noticed her much the last time he was here; he hadn't been in a mind frame for humanity. Now, he noticed she was cool, efficient, and beautiful, like most of the _servants_ in the employ of the Palace. She was most likely a a submissive or a slave, or maybe even a Dominatrix; the workers here were fully immersed in the lifestyle, and all of them took turns in the chamber.

Her dark eyes flared with interest as she swept her gaze over him, but it didn't move him. There had been a time a woman like her would've turned him on exponentially and made him think of all sorts of wickedly fun Earthly delights, but now he felt completely cold by her; he wasn't the least bit aroused. She lacked warmth, compassion, and emotion, almost like a well constructed mannequin. Quite frankly, she—and her sisters here—were no longer his type.

What was his type?

His type was a real woman who laughed loud enough that people stared sometimes, cried nearly as loudly at sad movies, and couldn't hide her emotions to save her soul. A woman that sometimes spilled on her colorful blouses, blushed at his teasing, and made him blush in return. A woman that lived and loved life to the fullest...because she would love him the same way. _That _was his type—he found her and hoped to God he woke up in time to keep her.

Without a word, he stood and began to follow the black-clad woman to chamber four, his usual room. "Is there anything else I can get for you?"

"Yes, please," he said.

The woman looked shocked, the most emotion he'd ever seen her have, which didn't surprise Derek. He had never, ever asked for anything before or after his sessions there. He was a private man in many ways, and he hadn't wanted—or needed—the simpering false emotions that some of the women doled out. He didn't need to be called Master; he didn't need the stooping, boot kissing, and lowering of eyes, and he really didn't need to be complimented.

What he had liked was light mind control and bondage. If he'd been there for sex, he only wanted for them to follow directions, make him forget, and then get far away from him afterward. If he'd been there for a flogging, he wanted even less contact.

Again, he saw the huge contrast in what he felt and wanted now. Forever wasn't enough time with Penelope; he never wanted her to leave his side.

"What would that be, Mr. Morgan, sir?" she asked, regaining her starched spine and cool appearance.

Derek couldn't wait anymore, not one second longer. He missed his Baby Girl; they'd been apart for far too long.

"Penelope." He shot the woman a brilliant smile of anticipation. "I want Penelope. Please bring her to me."

He watched as understanding hit the woman. "Yes, sir," she said, and then bowed and left the room.

* * *

><p>Penelope looked at herself in the mirror and felt a rush of nerves hit her. She looked at the last piece of the get up she was to wear—a mask—and refused to put it on. There had been too much hiding between herself and Derek already; she didn't want anything else he could misconstrue.<p>

The woman who had worked with Derek the last time she'd sneaked in there had been gracious enough to allow her full run of the costume department and the props. It had taken very little convincing after she explained her reasoning...and after Penelope mentioned that she wasn't supposed to be allowed to come in last time. She didn't like resorting to blackmail, but she'd do it for Derek. Hell, she'd whip out her FBI credentials if she needed to.

"Here you go," the woman had said, opening the door. She glowered at Penelope. "I've done enough; you're on your own with this stuff."

"Thank you," Penelope had said before the woman left. "For everything...thank you."

The woman had continued glowering, but the corner of her mouth had quirked. "One last thing... What's your name?"

"Penelope."

"Well, _best friend _Penelope," she'd said with a grin. "You're going to need some lacing..."

The woman—Gina—had remained and helped her into an outrageous get up. Penelope was beyond grateful. She hadn't had a clue on what to do with most of it, even after researching BDSM on the internet. She figured it was similar to being on the stage for one of her plays, like she was cast to play some sort of odd Dominatrix that wasn't really a Dominatrix.

Unfortunately, this wasn't a play, and her costume didn't quite fit right. It consisted of another corset, a leather one, that pressed her up and forward so much, she could rest a cup on her tits. She had a more ample bosom than most of the workers at the Palace, and she was larger than those women, too. Gina had picked out the best costume for her and had assured her she'd knock Derek dead.

Penelope didn't want him dead; she just wanted him aroused.

She wore a pair of black, wide-cut, fishnet stockings and a tight leather skirt that just covered the cheeks of her ass. On her feet were black, patent leather stilettos that she seriously wished she owned—she would have to ask where they'd purchased them. Her hair was in a high, tight ponytail, her bangs fastened back, and her makeup was flawless. She looked like dirty porn magnified by ten. Like an uber ample playboy bunny on steroids.

She needed to shake that thinking. After all she had researched, thinking negative thoughts was not something that would be tolerated.

Oh, how Penelope had researched! She had gone online, talking with Doms and subs in chat rooms. Most of them had thought she was adorable, researching her role. A few had wanted to exchange pictures, and more than a few had invited her and Derek for a "playdate". She couldn't quite imagine Derek sharing...

She remembered their advice...

"_Be proud of what you present," _one Dom had said. "_We do not want a woman with a low self-esteem—we want the pick of the crop."_

"_You are our choice," a_nother Dom had said_. "We chose you, and we don't make poor decisions."_

Another said_, "Remember: we are very proud of our subs... We like to show off what we own."_

She thought about that word_, Ownership_. Instead of feeling negative about the connotation, she felt excited, and a flood of warmth rushed over her to pool between her legs. She didn't fear it; Derek already owned her heart and her body. She'd give everything to him...only to get everything she'd ever wanted in return.

There was a difference between being a sub and being a slave, but tonight, she was going to act completely obedient, to prove a point to him that she could do this—even to the extreme. She was going to be his slave, and he would be her Master... and then she would yell at him for doubting her.

Before she could think any more, a voice called out on the intercom:

"Penelope. He's ready for you."

Penelope closed her eyes and took as deep of a breath as the corset would allow, and then she knocked on the adjoining chamber door before opening it partially.

"Come in." Derek's low sexy voice caused a thrill of shivers down her spine.

"_Present yourself_. _Be confident, yet be humble. Show that you are both __vulnerable and available," _another sub had told her online. "_Be sexy. Know that your sexiness pleases __him and__ that pleases you."_

Eyes cast straight ahead, but not meeting his—a slave did not meet her Master's eyes—she walked toward him with erect posture and a slight, provocative sway to her hips. She could feel Derek's gaze on her, knew he was watching her intently. She wished she could see the expression on his face, but she fought the desire to look upward. This was not about her wants. This was about him.

Stopping just in front of him, she descended gracefully to her knees and spread them wide, as she had learned was the proper pose of a serious sub. She tipped her chin up, but kept her gaze cast downward. As a final touch, she placed her hands on her thighs and turned her palms upward, showing that she was waiting for his next command.

She heard him suck in his breath, but she didn't know what he looked like. Was that a pleasurable inhalation? She couldn't tell, and it was driving her crazy. Strangely, any anger had melted away, and she immediately fell into her role as his sub. She wanted to see him, see his gorgeous face and know if he was happy with her...if she'd pleased him.

Oh, how she wanted to please him!

"What are you doing?"

She couldn't tell by his voice. He had no inflection either way. God, she was terrified she was screwing this up. She'd studied so hard, talked to so many different Doms and subs and slaves. If she failed...

Failure was not an option.

"I am trying to please you," she said, and then added, "Master."

"Penelope, look at me."

"Yes, Master."

When she brought her gaze to his, she sucked in her breath. He wasn't happy. In fact, he looked... irritated.

"Stand up," he said, reaching his hands out to help her to her feet.

That was her duty, to rise gracefully. He wasn't supposed to help her.

"Have I displeased you, Master?" she said softly, meekly, starting to rise on her own accord.

"Baby Girl-"

She rose by herself with as much dignity as she could muster. "I apologize for causing your displeasure. Please forgi—"

"Baby Girl, stop!" he snapped.

She stared at him, unsure of what she was to do. She could _do _this, she could show him. "Master, can I provide—"

"Hush!" He put his fingers over her lips. "Please, stop calling me _Master_. I don't like that. That's not you. You have lots of names for me, but _Master_ ain't one of them."

She stared at him with placid blue eyes."What do you wish for me to call you?"

He huffed. "Baby, stop this crap. Stop. It's not you."

Penelope felt tears spring to her eyes, and she tried desperately not to let them happen. "Yes, it is. I will-"

"No, sweetheart, it's not," he said quickly. "And y_ou_ didn't cause me any displeasure." He paused and gave her a pained smile. "I did that all by myself."

She shook her head, panic rising in her chest. "I don't understand. I am trying to show you I can do this, Derek, but you won't let me."

"Garcia, no, it's-"

"I can!" she cried, interrupting him. She swallowed her tears and her pride, and both tasted so bitter on her tongue. "Please... I...I'll do anything. Be anything. Just...give me a chance!"

By the time she was done, she could hear the pleading, the begging in her tone, and her heart crumbled in her chest. She sounded so desperate. Not cool and calm, with serenity and zen, like she had been instructed to be.

Damn it! He was right... She was _a lousy fucking sub_!

"Oh, baby, you don't have to beg," he said, pulling her into his arms. He kissed he forehead, her temple, and then lay his cheek against her hair. "I don't want you to change or be something you aren't. I don't want you to say anything that doesn't feel natural to you. I don't want this, this pretense and show...not from you."

Oh, God. He didn't want this...not from her. She could feel the bile rising in her throat before what remained of her shredded pride kicked in.

"I see," she said as coolly as possible. She tried to push away from him. "I was mistaken. Very well. I can get someone else—"

"No, sweetheart, you don't see," he said, refusing to let her go. He cupped his hand under her chin and made her meet his eyes. "What I want is _you._ My Baby Girl. The one and the only_._"

"What?" she asked, freezing her movements to push away.

"You, Penelope," he said. "I want you and only you."

She could feel her brow pucker in confusion. "Derek..."

"Shhh...let me talk, please?" he asked.

She nodded warily, unsure what test this was for her to pass. Her heart seemed to hold deathly still in her chest, but she trusted in him. "Yes, Derek."

"I love when you are my sub, I love when it is natural, and you are acting like you. So what I want," he said with a soft smile, "is O. G. back." He paused and met her gaze. "Do you remember what that is?"

"Yes," she whispered, her heart starting to clamor in her chest. "_Original Garcia_."

"That's my girl." He reached his hand up to her hair and gently loosened and removed the elastic holding her severe ponytail back, causing her hair to fall loosely on her shoulders like it was most any day of the week. "I want the woman who smiles readily at me, meets my eyes as my equal, and doesn't hide from anyone that she is excited to see me. That woman isn't demure, and I don't want her to be."

That was certainly her. She wasn't demure. She knew she was a bit too flashy and a bit too loud. She'd always wanted to be a perfect lady drinking tea, but found that she had more fun with the fuzzy navel drinking crowd.

He reached behind her and began unfastening the corset she was wearing. "I want the woman who makes me laugh with her dirty mouth and smile when I don't feel like smiling. One that looks me in the eye and tells me I'm an ass or that I suck when I deserve it. She keeps me on my toes. That woman wouldn't need to call me Master—she's nobody's slave. Turn, baby."

Penelope turned around, and he continued loosening the corset. "That same woman, the woman that I want? She leans on me when she needs my strength, even though she's strong enough all by herself. She's not afraid she'll lose her independence by letting me help her once in a while, and in return, she gives me solace and lightens me up when I need it the most. We're a team, she and I—we don't know who needs the other more... Turn, baby."

She turned and then took a deep breath as the corset fell to the floor.

He paused for a moment, looking at her naked breasts, the feral look in his eyes barely tamped down. "I want the woman who has made me crazy for her since the first time I saw her in her tight little skirts and low cut shirts. She's willing to play kinky games for fun or to make perfect love with me until I start to cry from the tenderness she built in my cold heart. That woman doesn't need anything but her gorgeous self to turn me on."

He found the zipper on her skirt, released it with a rasping sound, and then tugged the tights and the skirt off in one long sweep of his hands. Penelope kicked off her shoes, and stood, naked and—maybe somewhat ironically—both vulnerable and available.

"That woman can do anything, be anything to me—be my sub or my Queen or a little of both at the same time—and I can do the same for her...because we're soul mates and we love each other," he said, his voice husky and soft. "Even if I don't deserve her."

She felt the tears spring to her eyes again. How someone so beautiful and strong and caring and...downright wonderful could think he was undeserving of her love broke her heart. He struggled with self-esteem issues just like she did at times...

They were more alike than she had realized.

He cupped her face in his hands and said, "Baby...can you be you? My best friend, my lover, my playmate, and my sub... They're all you. That's all I want and all I will ever need."

"I can do that," she answered confidently as she reached up and cupped his face in her hands, "if you can be you...because you're all I need, too, Derek."

"Oh, baby," he whispered, and brought his mouth down on hers.


	21. Chapter 21

AN:Thank you so much for the reviews. We've reached the end of another story (Unless I do a epilogue!). Thanks for the strong reception for my millionth word story. I am so proud, and you are all so good to me... This is pretty spicy, so warning and contains some BDSM themes...reader discretion advised... Love and hugs, Kricket

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 21<strong>

The kiss was soft, sweet, perfect...a melding of their bodies, minds, and spirits. It was exactly what she needed to validate what was burning so brightly between them. There was nothing separating them anymore, no misunderstanding or pain or regrets. There was _nothing but love_, like he liked to say to her.

She cupped his face as he cupped hers, feeling the bristle of his goatee against her palms and the warmth of his skin. Every part of him was precious to her, and she was so grateful he was hers. She may not technically be a slave, but he owned her, just as she owned him, and she would take very, very good care of him.

When they finally pulled apart, she smiled up at him, a teasingly wicked grin on her face. "So..." she drawled, tracing a finger over his chest, "now that I am naked...and seeing that we have this fun room to use with _no_ time limit—momma isn't cheap, you know—what are you going to do with me?"

He smiled softly at her. "Baby, we don't have to—"

"Hush!" She put her fingers over his mouth and peered up at him.

"Sweetheart, I'm—"

"I came here to have a little fun, Derek Morgan. To further my education...and I am a really wonderful student," she interrupted urgently.

He grinned and touched her nose. "Baby Girl, I know that-"

She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "So are you gonna play or not?"

At first, Derek's eyebrows shot up, and then he gave her a slow smirk that caused her toes to curl and the hair to stand up on the back of her neck.

_Oh, yes—he was going to play_...

"OKay, sweetness," he said, locking his gaze with hers. "You _did_ show up wearing a corset...and what did I say about those?"

_Oh, shit_. He meant business.

She raised her chin defiantly and stepped back farther in self-preservation. "It was necessary."

"Noooo," he drawled, raising his brow at her. "It was a poor decision."

She tossed her hair and glared at him. "Are you going to tell me you weren't turned on by me in that black leather corset?"

He waved a hand in the air. "That's irrelevant. I—"

"It is not!"

He arched a brow at her. "Are you interrupting me?"

He held her eyes with a look that brooked no argument. There was something very commanding about Derek in that room...something exciting and a bit forbidden.

She_ liked_ it.

She blinked for a second, but wisely held her tongue.

"You directly disobeyed my orders. I am going to have to punish you."

She scoffed. "Yeah, right. You've been threatening with that for days."

"And you've been deserving of it...but only some of the time. Like ninety percent angel," he said soothingly when she balked, taking her hand and leading her across the room to where a large black armchair was waiting for him. He took a seat and said, "Lay across my lap, sweetheart."

They made love.

"I love you, Derek," she said moments later. She kissed the stubble roughened column of neck. Tears came to her eyes... tears of pure, wonderful_ release_.

"I love you, too, Penelope." He kissed her forehead, her temple, her lips. "Are you okay?"

"Mmm hmm. I liked it," she answered. She felt lazy, content, satisfied as she contemplated the thought. "I mean...it's not something I'd want to do every day, but maybe in a month or so, we—"

She was interrupted by his chest vibrating and rumbling. She looked up at him. "Why are you laughing?"

His eyes were twinkling with merriment. "Here I thought you wouldn't understand any of this, and now you're planning return trips in your head!"

"What's so odd about that?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. I'm just an idiot. I should've known better."

"You should've," she said in a silken purr, bringing her lips against his. "After all, we're a perfect match."

His eyes darkened, and she felt him growing hard again, even while still inside her. "That we are, Baby Girl. That we are..."

**For More of this chapter, please see my profile!**


	22. Chapter 22

AN: Thank you so much for the reviews and for your response to this story! This is the end for this one, and I am so sad to see it go (I kinda loved Dom Derek and sub Pen). Thanks again for you unending support and love. See you again soon with the next story... Love, KricketWilliams

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 22<strong>

_Three months later..._

Derek was sitting on the couch and watching _WWE Smackdown, _gleefully cheering for his favorite player to knock the other one out of the ring. Of course, his guy had a chair and was cheating royally, but it didn't matter. It was _wrestling_. Yes, it was fake. Yes, it was stupid. And yes, he loved it. In fact, he'd been smelling what the Rock was cookin' for years, even way back to the seventies when it was _All-Star Wrestling_. There wasn't a kid alive who didn't want to be Hulk Hogan or Jesse the Body Ventura in those days.

He had a bag of chips next to him, his feet were up on the coffee table, and the top button of his jeans was undone. His second can of beer was waiting to be opened. It was a man cave kind of night, the kind all men who lived with their fiancees enjoyed.

He glanced over at the empty seat on the couch where Penelope usually sat. She was out with the girls tonight, having a few drinks herself and enjoying her time out. She'd looked stunning when she left, all tousled blonde curls, pink lips, and a naughty smile. He'd been tempted to go with—he loved dancing with his girl—but she'd said no.

"You get man time. Do fun, manly man things," she'd said.

He'd proceed tell her that his favorite _manly thing_ to do included her...which had caused her to blush, smile, and whisper in his ear, "Later..."

Glancing at her spot longingly, he knew he looked rather wistful. Yeah. He would admit it; he was rather smitten with that girl.

Sighing, he popped open his beer and took a large sip before sitting back to watch the show.

* * *

><p>"Handsome, I'm home!" she cried out as she stumbled in their front door. He'd heard JJ's car peel away and then laughter and giggles from outside the doorway.<p>

"Did you have a good time?" he asked as she began to walk up their steps.

She strolled in front of him, sat on his lap, and then gave him a noisy kiss. "Mmm hmm. It was swell."

As she adjusted on his lap a little, her miniskirt ruched up higher, revealing more of those legs he loved so much. He laughed and then kissed her again, this time with some tongue. He could taste the rum and the fruit in the drinks she'd drunk.

"I'm glad," he said, and then slid his hand up under the leather to cup her fishnet-covered ass in his hand. He murmured against her lips, "Did you dance?"

"Yeah, I did," she said, kissing his lips, his chin, his cheek, whatever she could reach. "We danced with a lot of college-aged guys looking for a cougar."

Both of his brows shot up at that, and he looked back at her. "You did?"

She nodded and smiled. "Prentiss was teasing one of them, and then a crowd came over and joined us." She grinned mischievously at him. "They were kinda cute...kinda sexy."

He smirked at her. "They were, huh?"

"Very," she answered in a breathy manner, leaning forward to look him intently in the eyes, "but I wasn't interested in them. They're not as good as what I already own."

"Really?"

"Ummm hmmm," she said, standing and reaching for his remote. She turned the TV off and then straddled his lap on the couch. "See... I have the best of the best. It's all mine..."

As she said the words, she ghosted her hands down his sides and then hooked her fingers under the hem of his shirt. A second later, she pulled the fabric up and over his head.

_Oh, yeah._..

"See these pecs?" she asked rhetorically, running her hands over the planes of his firm muscles. She stopped to squeeze his nipples between her thumbs and forefingers, making them rise into firm little points. "They're mine."

"Yes, they are," he answered, sucking his breath in when she leaned forward and lathed the points with her tongue, nipping at them with her teeth. God, she was good... She knew all of his buttons, and she wasn't afraid to push them.

Then again, he'd trained her well.

"And this tummy," she purred, running her fingers there before sliding down on her knees between his legs. "Pure perfection and purely mine."

"All yours, angel."

Bringing her fingers to his waist, she smiled. "Button's popped. How convenient..."

**For More of this chapter, please see my profile!**


End file.
